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Rose  o*  the  River 


ROSE   O'   THE    RIVER 


COPYRIGHT    1905   BY   THE   CENTURY   COMPANY 
COPYRIGHT   1905      BY   KATE  DOUGLAS   RIGGS 

*   *•    .*        ALL*I»IGHT<j«RE^EftVED 

September  'i<jo5 


Table  of  Contents 


THE  PINE  AND  THE  ROSE 
"  OLD  KENNEBEC  "        .         . 
THE  EDGEWOOD  "  DRIVE  " 
"  BLASPHEMIOUS  SWEARIN'  " 
THE  GAME  OF  JACKSTRAWS 
HEARTS  AND  OTHER  HEARTS 
THE  LITTLE  HOUSE       \« 
THE  GARDEN  OF  EDEN     ... 
THE  SERPENT 
THE  TURQUOISE  RING 
ROSE  SEES  THE  WORLD  . 
GOLD  AND  PINCHBECK  . 
A  COUNTRY  CHEVALIER  . 
HOUSEBREAKING    . 
THE  DREAM  ROOM  . 


i 

13 

28 
40 
50 
67 
81 

93 

102 

114 
125 

135 
145 
1 60 

1 68 


List  of  Illustrations 


ROSE  o'  THE  RIVER       .         .    Frontispiece 
"SHE'S  UP!"    .        .         .        .        .        .         6 

"  HE  'S    A    TURRIBLE    SMART    DRIVER  "     .  2O 

HE    HAD    CERTAINLY   "TAKEN    CHANCES"  .          32 
IN   A   TWINKLING   HE    WAS    IN    THE   WATER  64 

"  ROSE,  I  'LL  TAKE  YOU  SAFELY  "    .         .76 
HIDING  HER  FACE  AS  HJ?  'FI,UNG  IT  -DOWN 

THE    RIVER-BANK      .       \ '.',',  '  ,  .  .%  '  v  I  *:\        1 1 6 
SHE  HAD  GONE  WITH  MAUDE  TO  CLAUDE'S 

STORE  .  .  .  .  .  .128 

"  So    LONG    AS    STEPHEN    WATERMAN  's 

ALIVE,  ROSE  WILEY  CAN  HAVE  HIM"     158 
"  DON'T  SPEAK,  STEPHEN,  TILL  YOU  HEAR 

WHAT    I    HAVE    TO    SAY"  .  .  1 


'The  Pine  and  the  Rose 


IT  was  not  long  after  sunrise,  and  Ste 
phen  Waterman,  fresh  from  his  dip  in 
the  river,  had  scrambled   up  the  hillside 
from  the  hut  in  the  alder-bushes  where  he 
had  made  his  morning  toilet. 

An  early  ablution  of  this  sort  was  not 
the  custom  of  the  farmers  along  the  banks 
of  the  Saco,  but  the  Waterman  house  was 
hardly  a  stone's  throw  from  the  water,  and 
there  was  a  clear,  deep  swimming-hole  in 
the  Willow  Cove  that  would  have  tempted 
the  busiest  man,  or  the  least  cleanly,  in 
York  County.  Then,  too,  Stephen  was  a 
child  of  the  river,  born,  reared,  schooled  on 
its  very  brink,  never  happy  unless  he  were 
on  it,  or  in  it,  or  beside  it,  or  at  least  within 
sight  or  sound  of  it. 

to 


,  V  :  :•"*:  :R&se  <>  the  River 
/;,  : :.-  ^>^p  •  fmnke-nsity  of   the  sea  had  always 

*       *  •    *  * 

silenced  and  overawed  him,  left  him  cold 
in  feeling.  The  river  wooed  him,  caressed 
him,  won  his  heart.  It  was  just  big  enough 
to  love.  It  was  full  of  charms  and  changes, 
of  varying  moods  and  sudden  surprises.  Its 
voice  stole  in  upon  his  ear  with  a  melody 
far  sweeter  and  more  subtle  than  the 
boom  of  the  ocean.  Yet  it  was  not  without 
strength,  and  when  it  was  swollen  with  the 
freshets  of  the  spring  and  brimming  with 
the  bounty  of  its  sister  streams,  it  could 
dash  and  roar,  boom  and  crash,  with  the 
best  of  them. 

Stephen  stood  on  the  side  porch,  drinking 
in  the  glory  of  the  sunrise,  with  the  Saco 
winding  like  a  silver  ribbon  through  the 
sweet  loveliness  of  the  summer  landscape. 

And  the  river  rolled  on  toward  the  sea, 
singing  its  morning  song,  creating  and 
nourishing  beauty  at  every  step  of  its  on 
ward  path.  Cradled  in  the  heart  of  a  great 
mountain-range,  it  pursued  its  gleaming 


The  Pine  and  the  Rose 

way,  here  lying  silent  in  glassy  lakes,  there 
rushing  into  tinkling  little  falls,  foaming 
great  falls,  and  thundering  cataracts.  Scores 
of  bridges  spanned  its  width,  but  no  steam 
ers  flurried  its  crystal  depths.  Here  and 
there  a  rough  little  rowboat,  tethered  to  a 
willow,  rocked  to  and  fro  in  some  quiet 
bend  of  the  shore.  Here  the  silver  gleam 
of  a  rising  perch,  chub,  or  trout  caught  the 
eye ;  there  a  pickerel  lay  rigid  in  the  clear 
water,  a  fish  carved  in  stone:  here  eels 
coiled  in  the  muddy  bottom  of  some  pool ; 
and  there,  under  the  deep  shadows  of  the 
rocks,  lay  fat,  sleepy  bass,  old,  and  incredi 
bly  wise,  quite  untempted  by,  and  wholly 
superior  to,  the  rural  fisherman's  worm. 

The  river  lapped  the  shores  of  peaceful 
meadows  ;  it  flowed  along  banks  green  with 
maple,  beech,  sycamore,  and  birch  ;  it  fell 
tempestuously  over  dams  and  fought  its 
way  between  rocky  cliffs  crowned  with 
stately  firs.  It  rolled  past  forests  of  pine 
and  hemlock  and  spruce,  now  gentle,  now 
[3] 


Rose  o  the  River 

terrible ;  for  there  is  said  to  be  an  Indian 
curse  upon  the  Saco,  whereby,  with  every 
great  sun,  the  child  of  a  paleface  shall  be 
drawn  into  its  cruel  depths.  Lashed  into 
fury  by  the  stony  reefs  that  impeded  its 
progress,  the  river  looked  now  sapphire, 
now  gold,  now  white,  now  leaden  gray ; 
but  always  it  was  hurrying,  hurrying  on  its 
appointed  way  to  the  sea. 

After  feasting  his  eyes  and  filling  his 
heart  with  a  morning  draught  of  beauty,  Ste 
phen  went  in  from  the  porch  and,  pausing 
at  the  stairway,  called  in  stentorian  tones  : 
"  Get  up  and  eat  your  breakfast,  Rufus  ! 
The  boys  will  be  picking  the  side  jams  to 
day,  and  I  'm  going  down  to  work  on  the 
logs.  If  you  come  along,  bring  your  own 
pick-pole  and  peavey."  Then,  going  to  the 
kitchen  pantry,  he  collected,  from  the  va 
rious  shelves,  a  pitcher  of  milk,  a  loaf  of 
bread,  half  an  apple-pie,  and  a  bowl  of  blue 
berries,  and,  with  the  easy  methods  of  a 
household  unswayed  by  feminine  rule, 
[4] 


The  Pine  and  the  Rose 

moved  toward  a  seat  under  an  apple-tree 
and  took  his  morning  meal  in  great  appar 
ent  content.  Having  finished,  and  washed 
his  dishes  with  much  more  thoroughness 
than  is  common  to  unsuperintended  man, 
and  having  given  Rufus  the  second  call  to 
breakfast  with  the  vigor  and  acrimony  that 
usually  marks  that  unpleasant  performance, 
he  strode  to  a  high  point  on  the  river-bank 
and,  shading  his  eyes  with  his  hand,  gazed 
steadily  down  stream. 

Patches  of  green  fodder  and  blossoming 
potatoes  melted  into  soft  fields  that  had 
been  lately  mown,  and  there  were  glimpses 
of  tasseling  corn  rising  high  to  catch  the 
sun.  Far,  far  down  on  the  opposite  bank 
of  the  river  was  the  hint  of  a  brown  roof, 
and  the  tip  of  a  chimney  that  sent  a  slen 
der  wisp  of  smoke  into  the  clear  air.  Be 
yond  this,  and  farther  back  from  the  water, 
the  trees  apparently  hid  a  cluster  of  other 
chimneys,  for  thin  spirals  of  smoke  ascended 
here  and  there.  The  little  brown  roof  could 
[5] 


Rose  o  the  River 

never  have  revealed  itself  to  any  but  a 
lover's  eye;  and  that  discerned  something 
even  smaller,  something  like  a  pinkish 
speck,  that  moved  hither  and  thither  on  a 
piece  of  greensward  that  sloped  to  the 
waterside. 

"  She  's  up !  "  Stephen  exclaimed  under 
his  breath,  his  eyes  shining,  his  lips  smil 
ing.  His  voice  had  a  note  of  hushed  ex 
altation  about  it,  as  if  "  she,"  whoever  she 
might  be,  had,  in  condescending  to  rise, 
conferred  a  priceless  boon  upon  a  waiting 
universe.  If  she  were  indeed  "  up  "  (so  his 
tone  implied),  then  the  day,  somewhat 
falsely  heralded  by  the  sunrise,  had  really 
begun,  and  the  human  race  might  pursue 
its  appointed  tasks,  inspired  and  uplifted 
by  the  consciousness  of  her  existence.  It 
might  properly  be  grateful  for  the  fact  of 
her  birth ;  that  she  had  grown  to  woman's 
estate ;  and,  above  all,  that,  in  common 
with  the  sun,  the  lark,  the  morning-glory, 
and  other  beautiful  things  of  the  early  day, 
[6] 


SHE  'S    UP  !: 


The  Pine  and  the  Rose 

she  was  up  and  about  her  lovely,  cheery, 
heart-warming  business. 

The  handful  of  chimneys  and  the  smoke- 
spirals  rising  here  and  there  among  the 
trees  on  the  river-bank  belonged  to  what 
was  known  as  the  Brier  Neighborhood. 
There  were  only  a  few  houses  in  all,  scat 
tered  along  a  side  road  leading  from  the 
river  up  to  Liberty  Centre.  There  were 
no  great  signs  of  thrift  or  prosperity,  but 
the  Wiley  cottage,  the  only  one  near  the 
water,  was  neat  and  well  cared  for,  and 
Nature  had  done  her  best  to  conceal  man's 
indolence,  poverty,  or  neglect. 

Bushes  of  sweetbrier  grew  in  fragrant 
little  forests  as  tall  as  the  fences.  Clumps 
of  wild  roses  sprang  up  at  every  turn,  and 
over  all  the  stone  walls,  as  well  as  on  every 
heap  of  rocks  by  the  wayside,  prickly  black 
berry  vines  ran  and  clambered  and  clung, 
yielding  fruit  and  thorns  impartially  to  the 
neighborhood  children. 

The  pinkish  speck  that  Stephen  Water- 
[7] 


Rose  o  the  River 

man  had  spied  from  his  side  of  the  river 
was  Rose  Wiley  of  the  Brier  Neighbor 
hood  on  the  Edgewood  side.  As  there  was 
another  of  her  name  on  Brigadier  Hill,  the 
Edgewood  minister  called  one  of  them  the 
climbing  Rose  and  the  other  the  brier 
Rose,  or  sometimes  Rose  of  the  river.  She 
was  well  named,  the  pinkish  speck.  She 
had  not  only  some  of  the  sweetest  attributes 
of  the  wild  rose,  but  the  parallel  might 
have  been  extended  as  far  as  the  thorns, 
for  she  had  wounded  her  scores,  —  hearts, 
be  it  understood,  not  hands.  The  wound 
ing  was,  on  the  whole,  very  innocently 
done;  and  if  fault  could  be  imputed  any 
where,  it  might  rightly  have  been  laid  at 
the  door  of  the  kind  powers  who  had  made 
her  what  she  was,  since  the  smile  that 
blesses  a  single  heart  is  always  destined  to 
break  many  more. 

She  had  not  a  single  silk  gown,  but  she 
had  what  is  far  better,  a  figure  to  show  off 
a  cotton  one.    Not  a  brooch  nor  a  pair  of 
[8] 


The  Pine  and  the  Rose 

earrings  was  numbered  among  her  posses 
sions,  but  any  ordinary  gems  would  have 
looked  rather  dull  and  trivial  when  com 
pelled  to  undergo  comparison  with  her 
bright  eyes.  As  to  her  hair,  the  local  mil 
liner  declared  it  impossible  for  Rose  Wiley 
to  get  an  unbecoming  hat ;  that  on  one 
occasion,  being  in  a  frolicsome  mood, 
Rose  had  tried  on  all  the  headgear  in  the 
village  emporium,  —  children's  gingham 
"Shakers,"  mourning  bonnets  for  aged 
dames,  men's  haying  hats  and  visored  caps, 
—  and  she  proved  superior  to  every  test, 
looking  as  pretty  as  a  pink  in  the  best  ones 
and  simply  ravishing  in  the  worst.  In  fact, 
she  had  been  so  fashioned  and  finished 
by  Nature  that,  had  she  been  set  on  a  re 
volving  pedestal  in  a  show-window,  the 
bystanders  would  have  exclaimed,  as  each 
new  charm  came  into  view :  "  Look  at  her 
waist !  "  "  See  her  shoulders  !  "  "  And  her 
neck  and  chin  !"  "  And  her  hair !"  While 
the  children,  gazing  with  raptured  admira- 
[9] 


Rose  o  the  River 

tion,  would   have  shrieked,  in  unison,  "  I 
choose  her  for  mine." 

All  this  is  as  much  as  to  say  that  Rose 
of  the  river  was  a  beauty,  yet  it  quite  fails 
to  explain,  nevertheless,  the  secret  of  her 
power.  When  she  looked  her  worst  the 
spell  -  was  as  potent  as  when  she  looked 
her  best.  Hidden  away  somewhere  was  a 
vital  spark  which  warmed  every  one  who 
came  in  contact  with  it.  Her  lovely  little 
person  was  a  trifle  below  medium  height, 
and  it  might  as  well  be  confessed  that  her 
soul,  on  the  morning  when  Stephen  Water 
man  saw  her  hanging  out  the  clothes  on 
the  river  bank,  was  not  large  enough  to 
be  at  all  out  of  proportion ;  but  when  eyes 
and  dimples,  lips  and  cheeks,  enslave  the 
onlooker,  the  soul  is  seldom  subjected  to 
a  close  or  critical  scrutiny.  Besides,  Rose 
Wiley  was  a  nice  girl,  neat  as  wax,  ener 
getic,  merry,  amiable,  economical.  She  was 
a  dutiful  granddaughter  to  two  of  the  most 
irritating  old  people  in  the  county;  she 

[10] 


The  Pine  and  the  Rose 

never  patronized  her  pug-nosed,  pasty-faced 
girl  friends ;  she  made  wonderful  pies  and 
doughnuts  ;  and  besides,  small  souls,  if  they 
are  of  the  right  sort,  sometimes  have  a  way 
of  growing,  to  the  discomfiture  of  cynics 
and  the  gratification  of  the  angels. 

So,  on  one  bank  of  the  river  grew  the 
brier  rose,  a  fragile  thing,  swaying  on  a 
slender  stalk  and  looking  at  its  pretty  re 
flection  in  the  water;  and  on  the  other  a 
sturdy  pine  tree,  well  rooted  against  wind 
and  storm.  And  the  sturdy  pine  yearned 
for  the  wild  rose ;  and  the  rose,  so  far  as  it 
knew,  yearned  for  nothing  at  all,  certainly 
not  for  rugged  pine  trees  standing  tall  and 
grim  in  rocky  soil.  If,  in  its  present  stage 
of  development,  it  gravitated  toward  any 
thing  in  particular,  it  would  have  been  a 
well-dressed  white  birch  growing  on  an 
irreproachable  lawn. 

And  the  river,  now  deep,  now  shallow, 
now  smooth,  now  tumultuous,  now  spark 
ling  in  sunshine,  now  gloomy  under  clouds, 


Rose  o  the  River 

rolled  on  to  the  engulfing  sea.  It  could  not 
stop  to  concern  itself  with  the  petty  come 
dies  and  tragedies  that  were  being  enacted 
along  its  shores,  else  it  would  never  have 
reached  its  destination.  Only  last  night, 
under  a  full  moon,  there  had  been  pairs 
of  lovers  leaning  over  the  rails  of  all  the 
bridges  along  its  course ;  but  that  was  a 
common  sight,  like  that  of  the  ardent 
couples  sitting  on  its  shady  banks  these 
summer  days,  looking  only  into  each  other's 
eyes,  but  exclaiming  about  the  beauty  of 
the  water.  Lovers  would  come  and  go, 
sometimes  reappearing  with  successive  in 
stallments  of  loves  in  a  way  wholly  myste 
rious  to  the  river.  Meantime  it  had  its  own 
work  to  do  and  must  be  about  it,  for  the 
side  jams  were  to  be  broken  and  the  boom 
"  let  out "  at  the  Edgewood  bridge. 


IT  was  just  seven  o'clock  that  same  morn 
ing  when  Rose  Wiley  smoothed  the 
last  wrinkle  from  her  dimity  counterpane, 
picked  up  a  shred  of  corn-husk  from  the 
spotless  floor  under  the  bed,  slapped  a 
mosquito  on  the  window-sill,  removed  all 
signs  of  murder  with  a  moist  towel,  and 
before  running  down  to  breakfast  cast  a 
frowning  look  at  her  pincushion.  Almira, 
otherwise  "  Mite,"  Shapley  had  been  in  her 
room  the  afternoon  before  and  disturbed 
with  her  careless  hand  the  pattern  of  Rose's 
pins.  They  were  kept  religiously  in  the 
form  of  a  Maltese  cross ;  and  if,  while  she 
was  extricating  one  from  her  clothing,  there 
had  been  an  alarm  of  fire,  Rose  would  have 
stuck  the  pin  in  its  appointed  place  in  the 
design,  at  the  risk  of  losing  her  life. 
C'3] 


Rose  o  the  River 

Entering  the  kitchen  with  her  light  step, 
she  brought  the  morning  sunshine  with  her. 
The  old  people  had  already  engaged  in 
differences  of  opinion,  but  they  commonly 
suspended  open  warfare  in  her  presence. 
There  were  the  usual  last  things  to  be  done 
for  breakfast,  offices  that  belonged  to  her 
as  her  grandmother's  assistant.  She  took 
yesterday's  soda  biscuits  out  of  the  steamer 
where  they  were  warming  and  softening; 
brought  an  apple  pie  and  a  plate  of  seed 
cakes  from  the  pantry;  settled  the  coffee 
with  a  piece  of  dried  fish  skin  and  an  egg 
shell ;  and  transferred  some  fried  potatoes 
from  the  spider  to  a  covered  dish. 

"  Did  you  remember  the  meat,  grandpa  ? 
We  're  all  out,"  she  said,  as  she  began  but 
toning  a  stiff  collar  around  his  reluctant 
neck. 

"  Remember  ?     Land,  yes  !     I  wish  't    I 

ever  could  forgit  anything!    The  butcher 

says  he  's  'bout  tired  o'  travelin'  over  the 

country  lookin'for  critters  to  kill,  but  if  he 

[H] 


"  Old  Kennebec" 

finds  anything  he  '11  be  up  along  in  the 
course  of  a  week.  He  ain't  a  real  smart 
butcher,  Cyse  Higgins  ain't.  —  Land,  Rose, 
don't  button  that  dickey  clean  through  my 
epperdummis !  I  have  to  sport  starched 
collars  in  this  life  on  account  o'  you  and 
your  gran'mother  bein'  so  chock  full  o' 
style  ;  but  I  hope  to  the  Lord  I  shan't  have 
to  wear  'em  in  another  world  !  " 

"  You  won't,"  his  wife  responded  with  the 
snap  of  a  dish  towel,  "  or  if  you  do,  they  '11 
wilt  with  the  heat." 

Rose  smiled,  but  the  soft  hand  with 
which  she  tied  the  neckcloth  about  the  old 
man's  withered  neck  pacified  his  spirit,  and 
he  smiled  knowingly  back  at  her  as  she 
took  her  seat  at  the  breakfast  table  spread 
near  the  open  kitchen  door.  She  was  a  daz 
zling  Rose,  and,  it  is  to  be  feared,  a  wasted 
one,  for  there  was  no  one  present  to  observe 
her  clean  pink  calico  and  the  still  more 
subtle  note  struck  in  the  green  ribbon 
which  was  tied  round  her  throat, — the  rib- 


Rose  o  the  River 

bon  that  formed  a  sort  of  calyx,  out  of  which 
sprang  the  flower  of  her  face,  as  fresh  and 
radiant  as  if  it  had  bloomed  that  morning. 

"  Give  me  my  coffee  tumble  quick,"  said 
Mr.  Wiley ;  "  I  must  be  down  to  the  bridge 
'fore  they  start  dog-warpin'  the  side  jam." 

"  I  notice  you  're  always  due  at  the  bridge 
on  churnin'  days,"  remarked  his  spouse, 
testily. 

"  T  aint  me  as  app'ints  drivin'  dates  at 
Edgewood,"  replied  the  old  man.  "  The 
boys  '11  hev  a  turrible  job  this  year.  The 
logs  air  ricked  up  jest  like  Rose's  jack- 
straws  ;  I  never  see  'em  so  turrible  ricked 
up  in  all  my  exper'ence ;  an'  Lije  Dennett 
don'  know  no  more  'bout  pickin'  a  jam  than 
Cooper's  cow.  Turrible  sot  in  his  ways,  too ; 
can't  take  a  mite  of  advice.  I  was  tellin' 
him  how  to  go  to  work  on  that  bung  that 's 
formed  between  the  gre't  gray  rock  an' 
the  shore,  —  the  awfullest  place  to  bung 
that  there  is  between  this  an'  Biddeford, — 
and  says  he :  '  Look  here,  I  Ve  be'n  boss  on 


"  Old  Kennebec" 

this  river  for  twelve  year,  an'  I  '11  be  dog- 
goned  if  I  'm  goin'  to  be  taught  my  busi 
ness  by  any  man ! '  '  This  ain't  no  river,' 
says  I,  '  as  you  'd  know,'  says  I,  '  if  you  'd 
ever  lived  on  the  Kennebec.'  *  Pity  you 
hed  n't  stayed  on  it,'  says  he.  *  I  wish  to 
the  land  I  hed,'  says  I.  An'  then  I  come 
away,  for  my  tongue 's  so  tumble  spry  anj 
sarcustic  that  I  knew  if  I  stopped  any  longer 
I  should  stir  up  strife.  There  's  some  folks 
that  '11  set  on  addled  aigs  year  in  an'  year 
out,  as  if  there  wan't  good  fresh  ones  bein' 
laid  every  day ;  an'  Lije  Dennett 's  one  of 
'em,  when  it  comes  to  river  drivin'." 

"  There  's  lots  o'  folks  as  have  made  a 
good  livin'  by  mindin'  their  own  business," 
observed  the  still  sententious  Mrs.  Wiley, 
as  she  speared  a  soda-biscuit  with  her  fork. 

"  Mindin'  your  own  business  is  a  turri- 
ble  selfish  trade,"  responded  her  husband 
loftily.  "  If  your  neighbor  is  more  ignorant 
than  what  you  are,  —  partic'larly  if  he  's  as 
ignorant  as  Cooper's  cow,  —  you  'd  ought, 
C'7] 


Rose  o9  the  River 

as  a  Kennebec  man  an'  a  Christian,  to  set 
him  on  the  right  track,  though  it 's  always 
a  turrible  risky  thing  to  do." 

Rose's  grandfather  was  called,  by  the 
irreverent  younger  generation,  sometimes 
"Turrible  Wiley"  and  sometimes  "Old 
Kennebec,"  because  of  the  frequency  with 
which  these  words  appeared  in  his  conversa 
tion.  There  were  not  wanting  those  of  late 
who  dubbed  him  Uncle  Ananias,  for  rea 
sons  too  obvious  to  mention.  After  a  long, 
indolent,  tolerably  truthful,  and  useless  life, 
he  had,  at  seventy-five,  lost  sight  of  the 
dividing  line  between  fact  and  fancy,  and 
drew  on  his  imagination  to  such  an  extent 
that  he  almost  staggered  himself  when  he 
began  to  indulge  in  reminiscence.  He  was 
a  feature  of  the  Edgewood  "  drive,"  being 
always  present  during  the  five  or  six  days 
that  it  was  in  progress,  sometimes  sitting 
on  the  river-bank,  sometimes  leaning  over 
the  bridge,  sometimes  reclining  against  the 
butt-end  of  a  huge  log,  but  always  chew- 

[it] 


"  Old  Kennebec  " 

ing  tobacco  and  expectorating  to  incredible 
distances  as  he  criticised  and  damned  im 
partially  all  the  expedients  in  use  at  the 
particular  moment. 

"  I  want  to  stay  down  by  the  river  this 
afternoon,"  said  Rose.  "  Ever  so  many  of 
the  girls  will  be  there,  and  all  my  sewing  is 
done  up.  If  grandpa  will  leave  the  horse 
for  me,  I  '11  take  the  drivers'  lunch  to  them 
at  noon,  and  bring  the  dishes  back  in  time 
to  wash  them  before  supper." 

"  I  suppose  you  can  go,  if  the  rest  do," 
said  her  grandmother,  "  though  it 's  an 
awful  lazy  way  of  spendin'  an  afternoon. 
When  I  was  a  girl  there  was  no  such  daw- 
dlin'  goin'  on,  I  can  tell  you.  Nobody 
thought  o'  lookin'  at  the  river  in  them 
days ;  there  was  n't  time." 

"  But  it 's  such  fun  to  watch  the  logs  !  " 
Rose  exclaimed.  "  Next  to  dancing,  the 
greatest  fun  in  the  world." 

"  'Specially  as  all  the  young  men  in  town 
will  be  there,  watchin',  too,"  was  the  grand- 
T'9] 


Rose  o  the  River 

mother's  reply.  "  Eben  Brooks  an'  Rich 
ard  Bean  got  home  yesterday  with  their 
doctors'  diplomas  in  their  pockets.  Mrs. 
Brooks  says  Eben  stood  forty-nine  in  a 
class  o'  fifty-five,  an'  seemed  consid'able 
proud  of  him ;  an'  I  guess  it  is  the  first 
time  he  ever  stood  anywheres  but  at  the 
foot.  I  tell  you  when  these  fifty-five  new 
doctors  git  scattered  over  the  country 
there  '11  be  consid'able  many  folks  keepin' 
house  under  ground.  Dick  Bean  's  goin'  to 
stop  a  spell  with  Rufe  an'  Steve  Waterman. 
That'll  make  one  more  to  play  in  the  river." 

"Rufus  ain't  hardly  got  his  workin'  legs 
on  yit,"  allowed  Mr.  Wiley,  "  but  Steve  's 
all  right.  He's  a  tumble  smart  driver,  an' 
tumble  reckless,  too.  He'll  take  all  the 
chances  there  is,  though  to  a  man  that's 
lived  on  the  Kennebec  there  ain't  what  can 
rightly  be  called  any  tumble  chances  on 
the  Saco." 

"  He  'd  better  be  'tendin'  to  his  farm," 
objected  Mrs.  Wiley. 

[20] 


«  Old  Kennebec" 

"  His  hay  is  all  in,"  Rose  spoke  up 
quickly,  "  and  he  only  helps  on  the  river 
when  the  farm  work  is  n't  pressing.  Be 
sides,  though  it 's  all  play  to  him,  he  earns 
his  two  dollars  and  a  half  a  day." 

"  He  don't  keer  about  the  two  and  a 
half,"  said  her  grandfather.  "  He  jest  can't 
keep  away  from  the  logs.  There  's  some 
that  can't.  When  I  first  moved  here  from 
Gard'ner,  where  the  climate  never  suited 


me" 


"  The  climate  of  any  place  where  you 
hev  regular  work  never  did  an'  never  will 
suit  you,"  remarked  the  old  man's  wife; 
but  the  interruption  received  no  comment : 
such  mistaken  views  of  his  character  were 
too  frequent  to  make  any  impression. 

"As  I  was  sayin',  Rose,"  he  continued, 
"  when  we  first  moved  here  from  Gard'ner, 
we  lived  neighbor  to  the  Watermans. 
Steve  an'  Rufus  was  little  boys  then,  al 
ways  playin'  with  a  couple  o'  wild  cousins 
o'  theirn,  consid'able  older.  Steve  would 


Rose  o  the  River 

scare  his  mother  pretty  nigh  to  death 
stealin'  away  to  the  mill  to  ride  on  the 
'  carriage,'  'side  o'  the  log  that  was  bein' 
sawed,  hitchin'  clean  out  over  the  river  an' 
then  jerkin'  back  'most  into  the  jaws  o'  the 
machinery." 

"  He  never  hed  any  common  sense  to 
spare,  even  when  he  was  a  young  one," 
remarked  Mrs.  Wiley ;  "  and  I  don't  see  as 
all  the  'cademy  education  his  father  throwed 
away  on  him  has  changed  him  much."  And 
with  this  observation  she  rose  from  the 
table  and  went  to  the  sink. 

"  Steve  ain't  nobody's  fool,"  dissented  the 
old  man ;  "  but  he  's  kind  o'  daft  about 
the  river.  When  he  was  little  he  was  allers 
buildin'  dams  in  the  brook,  an'  sailin'  chips, 
an'  runnin'  on  the  logs ;  allers  choppin'  up 
stickins  an'  raftin'  'em  together  in  the  pond. 
I  cal'late  Mis'  Waterman  died  consid'able 
afore  her  time,  jest  from  fright,  lookin'  out 
the  winders  and  seein'  her  boys  slippin'  be 
tween  the  logs  an'  gittin'  their  daily  dousin'. 


«  Old  Kennebec" 

She  could  n't  understand  it,  an'  there  's  a 
heap  o'  things  women-folks  never  do  an' 
never  can  understand,  —  jest  because  they 
air  women-folks." 

"  One  o'  the  things  is  men,  I  s'pose,"  in 
terrupted  Mrs.  Wiley. 

"  Men  in  general,  but  more  partic'larly 
husbands/' assented  Old  Kennebec;  "how- 
somever,  there  's  another  thing  they  don't 
an'  can't  never  take  in,  an'  that 's  sport. 
Steve  does  river  drivin'  as  he  would  horse- 
racin'  or  tiger-shootin'  or  tighf-rope  dan- 
cin' ;  an'  he  always  did  from  a  boy.  When 
he  was  about  twelve  or  fifteen,  he  used  to 
help  the  river-drivers  spring  and  fall,  reg'- 
lar.  He  could  n't  do  nothin'  but  shin  up  an' 
down  the  rocks  after  hammers  an'  hatchets 
an'  ropes,  but  he  was  tumble  pleased  with 
his  job.  '  Stepanfetchit,'  they  used  to  call 
him  them  days,  —  Stepanfetchit  Water 


man." 


"Good  name  for  him  yet,"  came  in  acid 
tones  from  the  sink.    "  He  's  still  steppin' 
03] 


Rose  d  the  River 

an'  fetchin',  only  it 's  Rose  that 's  doin'  the 
drivin'  now." 

"  I  'm  not  driving  anybody,  that  I  know  of," 
answered  Rose,  with  heightened  color,  but 
with  no  loss  of  her  habitual  self-command. 

"  Then,  when  he  graduated  from  errants," 
went  on  the  crafty  old  man,  who  knew  that 
when  breakfast  ceased,  churning  must  be 
gin,  "  Steve  used  to  get  seventy-five  cents 
a  day  helpin'  clear  up  the  river  —  if  you 
can  call  this  here  silv'ry  streamlet  a  river. 
He  'd  pick  off  a  log  here  an'  there  an'  send 
it  afloat,  an'  dig  out  them  that  hed  got 
ketched  in  the  rocks,  and  tidy  up  the  banks 
jest  like  spring  house-cleanin'.  If  he  'd  hed 
any  kind  of  a  boss,  an'  hed  be'n  trained  on 
the  Kennebec,  he  'd  '  a '  made  a  tumble 
smart  driver,  Steve  would." 

"  He  '11  be  drownded,  that 's  what  '11  be 
come  o'  him,"  prophesied  Mrs.  Wiley; 
"  'specially  if  Rose  encourages  him  in  such 
silly  foolishness  as  ridin'  logs  from  his  house 
down  to  ourn,  dark  nights." 
[H] 


"  Old  Kennebec" 

"  Seem*  as  how  Steve  built  ye  a  nice  pig 
pen  last  month,  'pears  to  me  you  might 
have  a  good  word  for  him  now  an'  then, 
mother,"  remarked  Old  Kennebec,  reaching 
for  his  second  piece  of  pie. 

"  I  wa'n't  a  mite  deceived  by  that  pig 
pen,  no  more  'n  I  was  by  Jed  Towle's  hen 
coop,  nor  Ivory  Dunn's  well-curb,  nor  Pitt 
Packard's  shed-steps.  If  you  hed  ever  kep' 
up  your  buildin's  yourself,  Rose's  beaux 
would  n't  hev  to  do  their  courtin'  with  car 
penters'  tools." 

"  It 's  the  pigpen  an'  the  hencoop  you 
want  to  keep  your  eye  en,  mother,  not  the 
motives  of  them  as  made  'em.  It 's  tumble 
onsettlin'  to  inspeck  folks'  motives  too  tur- 
rible  close." 

"  Riding  a  log  is  no  more  to  Steve  than 
riding  a  horse,  so  he  says,"  interposed  Rose, 
to  change  the  subject ;  "  but  I  tell  him  that 
a  horse  does  n't  revolve  under  you,  and  go 
sideways  at  the  same  time  that  it  is  going 
forwards." 


Rose  o  the  River 

"  Log-ridin'  ain't  no  trick  at  all  to  a  man 
of  sperit,"  said  Mr.  Wiley.  "  There  's  a  few 
places  in  the  Kennebec  where  the  water 's 
too  shaller  to  let  the  logs  float,  so  we  used 
to  build  a  flume,  an'  the  logs  would  whiz 
down  like  arrers  shot  from  a  bow.  The  boys 
used  to  collect  by  the  side  o'  that  there 
flume  to  see  me  ride  a  log  down,  an'  I  've 
watched  'em  drop  in  a  dead  faint  when  I 
spun  by  the  crowd ;  but  land !  you  can't 
drownd  some  folks,  not  without  you  tie 
nail-kags  to  their  head  an'  feet  an'  drop  'em 
in  the  falls  ;  I  Ve  rid  logs  down  the  b'ilin'est 
rapids  o'  the  Kennebec  an'  never  lost  my 
head.  I  remember  well  the  year  o'  the  gre't 
freshet,  I  rid  a  log  from  "  — 

"  There,  there,  father,  that  '11  do,"  said 
Mrs.  Wiley,  decisively.  "  I  '11  put  the  cream 
in  the  churn,  an'  you  jest  work  off  some  o' 
your  steam  by  bringin'  the  butter  for  us 
afore  you  start  for  the  bridge.  It  don't  do 
no  good  to  brag  afore  your  own  women 
folks;  work  goes  consid'able  better 'n  sto- 


"  Old  Kennebec" 

ries  at  every  place  'cept  the  loafers*  bench 
at  the  tavern." 

And  the  baffled  raconteur,  who  had  never 
done  a  piece  of  work  cheerfully  in  his  life, 
dragged  himself  reluctantly  to  the  shed, 
where,  before  long,  one  could  hear  him 
moving  the  dasher  up  and  down  sedately 
to  his  favorite  "  churning  tune  "  of  — 

Broad  is  the  road  that  leads  to  death, 
And  thousands  walk  together  there  ; 

But  Wisdom  shows  a  narrow  path, 
With  here  and  there  a  traveler. 


The  Edgewood  "  Drive 


JUST  where  the  bridge  knits  together 
the  two  little  villages  of  Pleasant  River 
and  Edgewood,  the  glassy  mirror  of  the 
Saco  broadens  suddenly,  sweeping  over 
the  dam  in  a  luminous  torrent.  Gushes  of 
pure  amber  mark  the  middle  of  the  dam, 
with  crystal  and  silver  at  the  sides,  and 
from  the  seething  vortex  beneath  the 
golden  cascade  the  white  spray  dashes  up 
in  fountains.  In  the  crevices  and  hollows 
of  the  rocks  the  mad  water  churns  itself 
into  snowy  froth,  while  the  foam-flecked 
torrent,  deep,  strong,  and  troubled  to  its 
heart,  sweeps  majestically  under  the  bridge, 
then  dashes  between  wooded  shores  piled 
high  with  steep  masses  of  rock,  or  torn 
and  riven  by  great  gorges. 

[28] 


The  Edgewood  "  Drive  " 

There  had  been  much  rain  during  the 
summer,  and  the  Saco  was  very  high,  so 
on  the  third  day  of  the  Edgewood  drive 
there  was  considerable  excitement  at  the 
bridge,  and  a  goodly  audience  of  villagers 
from  both  sides  of  the  river.  There  were 
some  who  never  came,  some  who  had  no 
fancy  for  the  sight,  some  to  whom  it  was 
an  old  story,  some  who  were  too  busy,  but 
there  were  many  to  whom  it  was  the  event 
of  events,  a  never-ending  source  of  interest. 

Above  the  fall,  covering  the  placid  sur 
face  of  the  river,  thousands  of  logs  lay 
quietly  "  in  boom  "  until  the  "  turning  out " 
process,  on  the  last  day  of  the  drive,  should 
release  them  and  give  them  their  chance 
of  display,  their  brief  moment  of  notoriety, 
their  opportunity  of  interesting,  amusing, 
exciting,  and  exasperating  the  onlookers 
by  their  antics. 

Heaps  of  logs  had  been  cast  up  on  the 
rocks  below  the  dam,  where  they  lay  in 
hopeless  confusion,  adding  nothing,  how- 
O9] 


Rose  o  the  River 

ever,  to  the  problem  of  the  moment,  for 
they  too  bided  their  time.  If  they  had 
possessed  wisdom,  discretion,  and  caution, 
they  might  have  slipped  gracefully  over 
the  falls  and,  steering  clear  of  the  hidden 
ledges  (about  which  it  would  seem  they 
must  have  heard  whispers  from  the  old 
pine  trees  along  the  river),  have  kept  a 
straight  course  and  reached  their  destina 
tion  without  costing  the  Edgewood  Lum 
ber  Company  a  small  fortune.  Or,  if  they 
had  inclined  toward  a  jolly  and  adventurous 
career,  they  could  have  joined  one  of  the 
various  jams  or  "  bungs,"  stimulated  by  the 
thought  that  any  one  of  them  might  be  a 
key-log,  holding  for  a  time  the  entire  mass 
in  its  despotic  power.  But  they  had  been 
stranded  early  in  the  game,  and,  after  lying 
high  and  dry  for  weeks,  would  be  picked 
off  one  by  one  and  sent  down-stream. 

In  the  tumultuous  boil,  the  foaming  hub 
bub  and  flurry  at  the  foot  of  the  falls,  one 
enormous  peeled  log  wallowed  up  and  down 
[30] 


The  Edgewood  "  Drive " 

like  a  huge  rhinoceros,  greatly  pleasing  the 
children  by  its  clumsy  cavortings.  Some 
conflict  of  opposing  forces  kept  it  ever  in 
motion,  yet  never  set  it  free.  Below  the 
bridge  were  always  the  real  battle-grounds, 
the  scenes  of  the  first  and  the  fiercest  con 
flicts.  A  ragged  ledge  of  rock,  standing 
well  above  the  yeasty  torrent,  marked  the 
middle  of  the  river.  Stephen  had  been 
stranded  there  once,  just  at  dusk,  on  a 
stormy  afternoon  in  spring.  A  jam  had 
broken  under  the  men,  and  Stephen,  hav 
ing  taken  too  great  risks,  had  been  caught 
on  the  moving  mass,  and,  leaping  from  log 
to  log,  his  only  chance  for  life  had  been  to 
find  a  footing  on  Gray  Rock,  which  was 
nearer  than  the  shore. 

Rufus  was  ill  at  the  time,  and  Mrs.  Water 
man  so  anxious  and  nervous  that  proces 
sions  of  boys  had  to  be  sent  up  to  the  River 
Farm,  giving  the  frightened  mother  the 
latest  bulletins  of  her  son's  welfare.  Luckily, 
the  river  was  narrow  just  at  the  Gray  Rock, 


Rose  o*  the  River 

and  it  was  a  quite  possible  task,  though 
no  easy  one,  to  lash  two  ladders  together 
and  make  a  narrow  bridge  on  which  the 
drenched  and  shivering  man  could  reach 
the  shore.  There  were  loud  cheers  when 
Stephen  ran  lightly  across  the  slender  path 
way  that  led  to  safety  —  ran  so  fast  that 
the  ladders  had  scarce  time  to  bend  be 
neath  his  weight.  He  had  certainly  "  taken 
chances,"  but  when  did  he  not  do  that? 
The  logger's  life  is  one  of  "  moving  acci 
dents  by  flood  and  field,"  and  Stephen  wel 
comed  with  wild  exhilaration  every  hazard 
that  came  in  his  path.  To  him  there  was 
never  a  dull  hour  from  the  moment  that  the 
first  notch  was  cut  in  the  tree  (for  he  some 
times  joined  theboys  in  the  lumber  camp  just 
for  a  frolic)  till  the  later  one  when  the  hewn 
log  reached  its  final  destination.  He  knew 
nothing  of  "tooling  "  a  four-in-hand  through 
narrow  lanes  or  crowded  thoroughfares,  — 
nothing  of  guiding  a  horse  over  the  hedges 
and  through  the  pitfalls  of  a  stiff  bit  of 


HE    HAD    CERTAINLY    "TAKEN    CHANCES 


The  Edge  wood  "  Drive  " 

hunting  country ;  his  steed  was  the  rearing, 
plunging,  kicking  log,  and  he  rode  it  like 
a  river  god. 

The  crowd  loves  daring,  and  so  it  wel 
comed  Stephen  with  bravos,  but  it  knew, 
as  he  knew,  that  he  was  only  doing  his  duty 
by  the  Company,  only  showing  the  Saco 
that  man  was  master,  only  keeping  the  old 
Waterman  name  in  good  repute. 

"  Ye  can't  drownd  some  folks,"  Old  Ken- 
nebec  had  said,  as  he  stood  in  a  group  on 
the  shore  ;  "  not  without  you  tie  sand-bags 
to  'em  an'  drop  'em  in  the  Great  Eddy.  I  'm 
the  same  kind ;  I  remember  when  I  was 
stranded  on  jest  sech  a  rock  in  the  Ken- 
nebec,  only  they  left  me  there  all  night  for 
dead,  an'  I  had  to  swim  the  rapids  when  it 
come  daylight.'' 

"  We  're  well  acquainted  with  that  rock 
and  them  rapids,"  exclaimed  one  of  the 
river-drivers,  to  the  delight  of  the  company. 

Rose  had  reason  to  remember  Stephen's 
adventure,  for  he  had  clambered  up  the 
[33] 


Rose  oy  the  River 

bank,  smiling  and  blushing  under  the  hur 
rahs  of  the  boys,  and,  coming  to  the  wagon 
where  she  sat  waiting  for  her  grandfather, 
had  seized  a  moment  to  whisper :  "  Did 
you  care  whether  I  came  across  safe,  Rose  ? 
Say  you  did  !  " 

Stephen  recalled  that  question,  too,  on 
this  August  morning;  perhaps  because  this 
was  to  be  a  red-letter  day,  and  sometime, 
when  he  had  a  free  moment,  —  sometime 
before  supper,  when  he  and  Rose  were  sit 
ting  apart  from  the  others,  watching  the 
logs,  —  he  intended  again  to  ask  her  to 
marry  him.  This  thought  trembled  in  him, 
stirring  the  deeps  of  his  heart  like  a  great 
wave,  almost  sweeping  him  off  his  feet 
when  he  held  it  too  close  and  let  it  have 
full  sway.  It  would  be  the  fourth  time  that 
he  had  asked  Rose  this  question  of  all  ques 
tions,  but  there  was  no  perceptible  differ 
ence  in  his  excitement,  for  there  was  al 
ways  the  possible  chance  that  she  might 
change  her  mind  and  say  yes,  if  only  for 
[34] 


The  Edgewood  "  Drive  " 

variety.  Wanting  a  thing  continuously,  un 
changingly,  unceasingly,  year  after  year, 
he  thought,  —  longing  to  reach  it  as  the 
river  longed  to  reach  the  sea,  —  such  want 
ing  might,  in  course  of  time,  mean  having. 

Rose  drove  up  to  the  bridge  with  the 
men's  luncheon,  and  the  under  boss  came 
up  to  take  the  baskets  and  boxes  from  the 
back  of  the  wagon. 

"  We  Ve  had  a  reg'lar  tussle  this  mornin', 
Rose,"  he  said.  "  The  logs  are  determined 
not  to  move.  Ike  Billings,  that 's  the  han'- 
somest  and  fluentest  all-round  swearer  on 
the  Saco,  has  tried  his  best  on  the  side 
jam.  He  's  all  out  o'  cuss-words  and  there 
hain't  a  log  budged.  Now,  stid  o'  dog- 
warpin'  this  afternoon,  an'  lettin'  the  oxen 
haul  off  all  them  stubborn  logs  by  main 
force,  we  're  goin'  to  ask  you  to  set  up  on 
the  bank  and  smile  at  the  jam.  '  Land  !  she 
can  do  it ! '  says  Ike  a  minute  ago.  '  When 
Rose  starts  smilin','  he  says,  '  there  ain't  a 
jam  nor  a  bung  in  me  that  don't  melt  like 
[35] 


Rose  o  the  River 

wax  and  jest  float  right  off  same  as  the  logs 
do  when  they  get  into  quiet,  sunny  water.'  " 
Rose  blushed  and  laughed,  and  drove  up 
the  hill  to  Mite  Shapley's,  where  she  put 
up  the  horse  and  waited  till  the  men  had 
eaten  their  luncheon.  The  drivers  slept  and 
had  breakfast  and  supper  at  the  Billings 
house,  a  mile  down  river,  but  for  several 
years  Mrs.  Wiley  had  furnished  the  noon 
meal,  sending  it  down  piping  hot  on  the 
stroke  of  twelve.  The  boys  always  said 
that  up  or  down  the  whole  length  of  the 
Saco  there  was  no  such  cooking  as  the 
Wileys',  and  much  of  this  praise  was  earned 
by  Rose's  serving.  It  was  the  old  grand 
mother  who  burnished  the  tin  plates  and 
dippers  till  they  looked  like  silver;  for  — 
crotchety  and  sharp-tongued  as  she  was 
- —  she  never  allowed  Rose  to  spoil  her 
hands  with  soft  soap  and  sand :  but  it  was 
Rose  who  planned  and  packed,  Rose  who 
hemmed  squares  of  old  white  tablecloths 
and  sheets  to  line  the  baskets  and  keep 

[36] 


The  Edgewood  "  Drive  " 

things  daintily  separate,  Rose,  also,  whose 
tarts  and  cakes  were  the  pride  and  admira 
tion  of  church  sociables  and  sewing  societies. 
Where  could  such  smoking  pots  of  beans 
be  found  ?  A  murmur  of  ecstatic  approval 
ran  through  the  crowd  when  the  covers 
were  removed.  Pieces  of  sweet  home-fed 
pork  glistened  like  varnished  mahogany  on 
the  top  of  the  beans,  and  underneath  were 
such  deeps  of  fragrant  juice  as  come  only 
from  slow  fires  and  long,  quiet  hours  in 
brick  ovens.  Who  else  could  steam  and 
bake  such  mealy  loaves  of  brown  bread, 
brown  as  plum-pudding,  yet  with  no  suspi 
cion  of  sogginess  ?  Who  such  soda-biscuits, 
big,  feathery,  tasting  of  cream,  and  hardly 
needing  butter  ?  And  green-apple  pies ! 
Could  such  candied  lower  crusts  be  found 
elsewhere,  or  more  delectable  filling?  Or 
such  rich,  nutty  doughnuts?  —  doughnuts 
that  had  spurned  the  hot  fat  which  is  the 
ruin  of  so  many,  and  risen  from  its  waves 
like  golden-brown  Venuses. 
[37] 


Rose  o  the  River 

"  By  the  great  seleckmen  !  "  ejaculated 
Jed  Towle,  as  he  swallowed  his  fourth,  "  I  'd 
like  to  hev  a  wife,  two  daughters,  and  four 
sisters  like  them  Wileys,  and  jest  set  still 
on  the  river-bank  an'  hev  'em  cook  victuals 
for  me.  I  'd  hev  nothin'  to  wish  for  then 
but  a  mouth  as  big  as  the  Saco's." 

"  And  I  wish  this  custard  pie  was  the 
size  o'  Bonnie  Eagle  Pond,"  said  Ike  Bil 
lings.  "  I  'd  like  to  fall  into  the  middle  of 
it  and  eat  my  way  out !  " 

"  Look  at  that  bunch  o'  Chiny  asters  tied 
on  f  the  bail  o'  that  biscuit-pail ! "  said 
Ivory  Dunn.  u  That 's  the  girl's  doin's,  you 
bet:  women-folks  don't  seem  to  make  no 
bo'quets  after  they  git  married.  Let 's  divide 
'em  up  an'  wear  'em  drivin'  this  afternoon; 
mebbe  they  '11  ketch  the  eye  so  't  our  rags 
won't  show  so  bad.  Land  !  it 's  lucky  my 
hundred  days  is  about  up !  If  I  don't  git 
home  soon,  I  shall  be  arrested  for  goin' 
without  clo'es.  I  set  up  'bout  all  night  put- 
tin'  these  blue  patches  in  my  pants  an'  tryin' 
[38] 


The  Edgewood  "  Drive  " 

to  piece  together  a  couple  of  old  red-flannel 
shirts  to  make  one  whole  one.  That 's  the 
worst  o'  drivin'  in  these  places  where  the 
pretty  girls  make  a  habit  of  comin'  down  to 
the  bridge  to  see  the  fun.  You  hev  to  keep 
rigged  up  jest  so  stylish ;  you  can't  git  no 
chance  at  the  rum  bottle,  an'  you  even 
hev  to  go  a  leetle  mite  light  on  swearinV 


Blasphemious  Swearin* 


STEVE  WATERMAN'S  an  awful 
nice  feller,"  exclaimed  Ivory  Dunn  just 
then.  Stephen  had  been  looking  intently 
across  the  river,  watching  the  Shapleys' 
side  door,  from  which  Rose  might  issue 
at  any  moment ;  and  at  this  point  in  the 
discussion  he  had  lounged  away  from  the 
group,  and,  moving  toward  the  bridge,  be 
gan  to  throw  pebbles  idly  into  the  water. 

"  He  's  an  awful  smart  driver  for  one 
that  don't  foller  drivin'  the  year  round,' 
continued  Ivory  ;  "  and  he  's  the  awfullest 
clean-spoken,  soft-spoken  feller  I  ever  see." 

"  There  's  be'n  two  black  sheep  in  his 

family  a'ready,  an'  Steve  kind  o'  feels  as  if 

he  'd  ought  to  be  extry  white,"  remarked 

Jed    Towle.    "You   fellers  that   belonged 

[40] 


"  Blaspbemious  Swearin  ' 

to  the  old  drive  remember  Pretty  Quick 
Waterman  well  enough?  Steve's  mother 
brought  him  up." 

Yes ;  most  of  them  remembered  the 
Waterman  twins,  Stephen's  cousins,  now 
both  dead,  —  Slow  Waterman,  so  moderate 
in  his  steps  and  actions  that  you  had  to  fix 
a  landmark  somewhere  near  him  to  see  if 
he  moved;  and  Pretty  Quick,  who  shone 
by  comparison  with  his  twin. 

"  I  'd  kind  o'  forgot  that  Pretty  Quick 
Waterman  was  cousin  to  Steve,"  said  the 
under  boss ;  "  he  never  worked  with  me 
much,  but  he  wa'n't  cut  off  the  same  piece 
o'  goods  as  the  other  Watermans.  Great 
hemlock !  but  he  kep'  a  cussin'  dictionary, 
Pretty  Quick  did  !  Whenever  he  heard  any 
new  words  he  must  'a'  writ  'em  down,  an' 
then  studied  'em  all  up  in  the  winter-time, 
to  use  in  the  spring  drive." 

"  Swearin'  's  a  habit  that  hed  ought  to  be 
practiced  with  tumble  caution,"  observed 
old  Mr.  Wiley,  when  the  drivers  had  fin- 


Rose  o  the  River 

ished  luncheon  and  taken  out  their  pipes. 
"  There  's  three  kinds  o'  swearin', — plain 
swearin',  profane  swearin',  an'  blasphemious 
swearin'.  Logs  air  jest  like  mules  :  there  's 
times  when  a  man  can't  seem  to  rip  up  a 
jam  in  good  style  'thout  a  few  words  that 's 
too  strong  for  the  infant  classes  in  Sunday- 
schools  ;  but  a  man  hed  n't  ought  to  tempt 
Providence.  When  he  's  ridin'  a  log  near 
the  falls  at  high  water,  or  cuttin'  the  key-log 
in  a  jam,  he  ain't  in  no  place  for  blasphe 
mious  swearin';  jest  a  little  easy,  perlite 
'damn '  is  'bout  all  he  can  resk,  if  he  don't 
want  to  git  drownded  an'  hev  his  ghost 
walkin'  the  river-banks  till  kingdom  come. 
"  You  an'  I,  Long,  was  the  only  ones 
that  seen  Pretty  Quick  go,  wa'n't  we?" 
continued  Old  Kennebec,  glancing  at  Long 
Abe  Dennett  (cousin  to  Short  Abe),  who 
lay  on  his  back  in  the  grass,  the  smoke- 
wreaths  rising  from  his  pipe,  and  the  steel 
spikes  in  his  heavy,  calked-sole  boots  shin 
ing  in  the  sun. 

[42] 


"  Blaspbemious  Swearin  ' 

"  There  was  folks  on  the  bridge,"  Long 
answered,  "  but  we  was  the  only  ones  near 
enough  to  see  an'  hear.  It  was  so  onex- 
pected,  an'  so  soon  over,  that  them  as  was 
watchin'  up-stream,  where  the  men  was  to 
work  on  the  falls,  would  n't  'a'  hed  time  to 
see  him  go  down.  But  I  did,  an'  nobody 
ain't  heard  me  swear  sence,  though  it 's  ten 
years  ago.  I  allers  said  it  was  rum  an' 
bravadder  that  killed  Pretty  Quick  Water 
man  that  day.  The  boys  hed  n't  give  him  a 
4  dare  '  that  he  hed  n't  took  up.  He  seemed 
like  he  was  possessed,  an'  the  logs  was  the 
same  way;  they  was  fairly  wild,  leapin' 
around  in  the  maddest  kind  o'  water  you 
ever  see.  The  river  was  b'ilin'  high  that 
spring ;  it  was  an  awful  stubborn  jam,  an' 
Pretty  Quick,  he  'd  be'n  workin'  on  it  sence 
dinner." 

"  He  clumb  up  the  bank  more  'n  once 
to  have  a  pull  at  the  bottle  that  was  hid  in 
the  bushes,"  interpolated  Mr.  Wiley. 

"  Like  as  not ;  that  was  his  failin'.   Well, 
[43] 


Rose  o  the  River 

most  o'  the  boys  were  on  the  other  side  o' 
the  river,  workin'  above  the  bridge,  an'  the 
boss  hed  called  Pretty  Quick  to  come  off 
an'  leave  the  jam  till  mornin',  when  they  'd 
get  horses  an'  dog-warp  it  off,  log  by  log. 
But  when  the  boss  got  out  o'  sight,  Pretty 
Quick  jest  stood  right  still,  vvingin'  his 
axe,  an'  blasphemin'  so  't  would  freeze  your 
blood,  vowin'  he  would  n't  move  till  the  logs 
did,  if  he  stayed  there  till  the  crack  o'  doom. 
Jest  then  a  great,  ponderous  log,  that  hed 
be'n  churnin'  up  an'  down  in  the  falls  for 
a  week,  got  free  an'  come  blunderin'  an' 
thunderin'  down-river.  Land  !  it  was  chock- 
full  o'  water,  an'  looked  'bout  as  big  as  a 
church !  It  come  straight  along,  butt-end 
foremost,  an'  struck  that  jam,  full  force, 
so  't  every  log  in  it  shivered.  There  was 
a  crack,  —  the  crack  o?  doom,  sure  enough, 
for  Pretty  Quick,  —  an'  one  o'  the  logs 
le'p'  right  out  an'  struck  him  jest  where  he 
stood,  with  his  axe  in  the  air,  blasphemin'. 
The  jam  kind  o'  melted  an'  crumbled  up, 
[44] 


"  Blaspbemiaus  Sivearin* ' 

an*  in  a  second  Pretty  Quick  was  whirlin* 
in  the  white  water.  He  never  riz,  —  at 
least  where  we  could  see  him,  —  an'  we 
did  n't  find  him  for  a  week.  That 's  the 
whole  story,  an'  I  guess  Steve  takes  it  as 
a  warnin'.  Any  way,  he  ain't  no  friend  to 
rum  nor  swearin',  Steve  ain't.  He  knows 
Pretty  Quick's  ways  shortened  his  mother's 
life,  an'  you  notice  what  a  sharp  lookout 
he  keeps  on  Rufus." 

"  He  needs  it,"  Ike  Billings  commented 
tersely. 

"  Some  men  seem  to  lose  their  wits  when 
they  're  workin'  on  logs,"  observed  Mr. 
Wiley,  who  had  deeply  resented  Long 
Dennett's  telling  of  a  story  which  he  knew 
fully  as  well  and  could  have  told  much 
better.  "  Now,  nat'rally,  I  Ve  seen  things 
on  the  Kennebec  "  — 

"  Three  cheers  for  the  Saco !  Hats  off, 
boys !  "  shouted  Jed  Towle,  and  his  direc 
tions  were  followed  with  a  will. 

"  As  I  was  sayin',"  continued  the  old 
[45] 


Rose  o  the  River 

man,  peacefully,  "  I  've  seen  things  on  the 
Kennebec  that  would  n't  happen  on  a  small 
river,  an'  I  Ve  be'n  in  tumble  places  an' 
taken  tumble  resks  —  resks  that  would  V 
turned  a  Saco  River  man's  hair  white ;  but 
them  is  the  times  when  my  wits  work  the 
quickest.  I  remember  once  I  was  smok- 
in'  my  pipe  when  a  jam  broke  under  me. 
'T  was  a  small  jam,  or  what  we  call  a  small 
jam  on  the  Kennebec,  —  only  about  three 
hundred  thousand  pine  logs.  The  first 
thing  I  knowed,  I  was  shootin'  back  an' 
forth  in  the  b'ilin'  foam,  hangin'  on  t'  the 
end  of  a  log  like  a  spider.  My  hands  was 
clasped  round  the  log,  and  I  never  lost 
control  o'  my  pipe.  They  said  I  smoked 
right  along,  jest  as  cool  an'  placid  as  a 
pond-lily." 

"  Why  'd  you  quit  drivin'  ?  "  inquired 
Ivory. 

"My  strength  wa'n't  ekal  to  it,"  Mr. 
Wiley  responded  sadly.  "  I  was  all  skin, 
bones,  an'  nerve.  The  Comp'ny  would  n't 

[46] 


"  Blaspbemious  Swearm  ' 

part  with  me  altogether,  so  they  give 
me  a  place  in  the  office  down  on  the 
wharves." 

"  That  wa'n't  so  bad,"  said  Jed  Towle ; 
"  why  did  n't  you  hang  on  to  it,  so's  to  keep 
in  sight  o'  the  Kennebec  ?  " 

"  I  found  I  could  n't  be  confined  under 
cover.  My  liver  give  all  out,  my  appetite 
failed  me,  an'  I  wa'n't  wuth  a  day's  wages. 
I  'd  learned  engineerin'  when  I  was  a  boy, 
an'  I  thought  I  'd  try  runnin'  on  the  road  a 
spell,  but  it  did  n't  suit  my  constitution.  My 
kidneys  ain't  tumble  strong,  an'  the  doctors 
said  I  'd  have  Bright's  disease  if  I  did  n't 
git  some  kind  o'  work  where  there  wa'n't 
no  vibrations." 

"  Hard  to  find,  Mr.  Wiley ;  hard  to  find !  " 
said  Jed  Towle. 

"  You  're  right,"  responded  the  old  man 
feelingly.  "  I  've  tried  all  kinds  o'  labor. 
Some  of  'em  don't  suit  my  liver,  some  dis 
agrees  with  my  stomach,  and  the  rest  of 
'em  has  vibrations ;  so  here  I  set,  high  an1 
[47] 


Rose  o  the  River 

dry  on  the  banks  of  life,  you  might  say,  like 
a  stranded  log." 

As  this  well-known  simile  fell  upon  the 
ear,  there  was  a  general  stir  in  the  group, 
for  Tumble  Wiley,  when  rhetorical,  some 
times  grew  tearful,  and  this  was  a  mood 
not  to  be  encouraged. 

"All  right,  boss,"  called  Ike  Billings, 
winking  to  the  boys ;  "  we  '11  be  there  in  a 
jiffy ! "  for  the  luncheon  hour  had  flown, 
and  the  work  of  the  afternoon  was  waiting 
for  them.  "  You  make  a  chalk-mark  where 
you  left  off,  Mr.  Wiley,  an*  we  '11  hear  the 
rest  to-morrer;  only  don't  you  forgit  no- 
thin'  !  Remember  't  was  the  Kennebec  you 
was  talkin'  about." 

"  I  will,  indeed,"  responded  the  old  man. 
"  As  I  was  sayin'  when  interrupted,  I  may 
be  a  stranded  log,  but  I  'm  proud  that  the 
mark  o'  the  Gard'ner  Lumber  Comp'ny  is 
on  me,  so  't  "when  I  git  to  my  journey's  end 
they  '11  know  where  I  belong  and  send  me 
back  to  the  Kennebec.  Before  I  'm  sawed 
[48] 


"  Blasphemious  Swearin* ' 

up  I  'd  like  to  forgit  this  triflin'  brook  in 
the  sight  of  a  good-sized  river,  an'  rest  my 
eyes  on  some  full-grown  logs,  'stead  o'  these 
little  damn  pipestems  you  boys  are  playin' 
with!" 


The  Game  of  yackstraws 


was  a  roar  of  laughter  at  the 
A  old  man's  boast,  but  in  a  moment 
all  was  activity.  The  men  ran  hither  and 
thither  like  ants,  gathering  their  tools. 
There  were  some  old-fashioned  pickpoles, 
straight,  heavy  levers  without  any  "  dog," 
and  there  were  modern  pickpoles  and 
peaveys,  for  every  river  has  its  favorite 
equipment  in  these  things.  There  was  no 
dynamite  in  those  days  to  make  the  stub 
born  jams  yield,  and  the  dog-warp  was  in 
general  use.  Horses  or  oxen,  sometimes 
a  line  of  men,  stood  on  the  river-bank.  A 
long  rope  was  attached  by  means  of  a  steel 
spike  to  one  log  after  another,  and  it  was 
dragged  from  the  tangled  mass.  Sometimes, 
after  unloading  the  top  logs,  those  at  the 


The  Game  of  Jackstraws 

bottom  would  rise  and  make  the  task 
easier;  sometimes  the  work  would  go  on 
for  hours  with  no  perceptible  progress,  and 
Mr.  Wiley  would  have  opportunity  to  tell 
the  bystanders  of  a  "  turrible  jam  "  on  the 
Kennebec  that  had  cost  the  Lumber  Com 
pany  ten  thousand  dollars  to  break. 

There  would  be  great  arguments  on 
shore,  among  the  villagers  as  well  as  among 
the  experts,  as  to  the  particular  log  which 
might  be  a  key  to  the  position.  The  boss 
would  study  the  problem  from  various 
standpoints,  and  the  drivers  themselves 
would  pass  from  heated  discussion  into 
long  consultations. 

"  They  're  paid  by  the  day,"  Old  Kenne 
bec  would  philosophize  to  the  doctor ;  "  an' 
when  they  're  consultin'  they  don't  hev  to 
be  doggin',  which  is  a  turrible  sight  harder 
work." 

Rose  had  created  a  small  sensation,  on 
one  occasion,  by  pointing  out  to  the  under 
boss  the  key-log  in  a  jam.  She  was  past 


Rose  o  the  River 

mistress  of  the  pretty  game  of  jackstraws, 
much  in  vogue  at  that  time.  The  delicate 
little  lengths  of  polished  wood  or  bone 
were  shaken  together  and  emptied  on  the 
table.  Each  jackstraw  had  one  of  its  ends 
fashioned  in  the  shape  of  some  sort  of  im 
plement,  —  a  rake,  hoe,  spade,  fork,  or  mal 
let.  All  the  pieces  were  intertwined  by  the 
shaking  process,  and  they  lay  as  they  fell, 
in  a  hopeless  tangle.  The  task  consisted 
in  taking  a  tiny  pickpole,  scarcely  bigger 
than  a  match,  and  with  the  bit  of  curved 
wire  on  the  end  lifting  off  the  jackstraws 
one  by  one  without  stirring  the  pile  or 
making  it  tremble.  When  this  occurred, 
you  gave  place  to  your  opponent,  who  re 
linquished  his  turn  to  you  when  ill  fortune 
descended  upon  him,  the  game,  which  was 
a  kind  of  river-driving  and  jam-picking  in 
miniature,  being  decided  by  the  number  of 
pieces  captured  and  their  value.  No  won 
der  that  the  under  boss  asked  Rose's  advice 
as  to  the  key-log.  She  had  a  fairy's  hand, 
[52] 


The  Game  of  yackstraws 

and  her  cunning  at  deciding  the  pieces  to 
be  moved,  and  her  skill  at  extricating  and 
lifting  them  from  the  heap,  were  looked 
upon  in  Edgewood  as  little  less  than  super 
natural.  It  was  a  favorite  pastime;  and 
although  a  man's  hand  is  ill  adapted  to  it, 
being  over-large  and  heavy,  the  game  has 
obvious  advantages  for  a  lover  in  bringing 
his  head  very  close  to  that  of  his  beloved 
adversary.  The  jackstraws  have  to  be 
watched  with  a  hawk's  eagerness,  since 
the  "  trembling  "  can  be  discerned  only  by 
a  keen  eye ;  but  there  were  moments  when 
Stephen  was  willing  to  risk  the  loss  of  a 
battle  if  he  could  watch  Rose's  drooping 
eyelashes,  the  delicate  down  on  her  pink 
cheek,  and  the  feathery  curls  that  broke 
away  from  her  hair. 

He  was  looking  at  her  now  from  a  dis 
tance,  for  she  and  Mite  Shapley  were  as 
sisting  Jed  Towle  to  pile  up  the  tin  plates 
and  tie  the  tin  dippers  together.  Next  she 
peered  into  one  of  the  bean-pots,  and 
[53] 


Rose  o  the  River 

seemed  pleased  that  there  was  still  some 
thing  in  its  depths ;  then  she  gathered  the 
fragments  neatly  together  in  a  basket,  and, 
followed  by  her  friend,  clambered  down 
the  banks  to  a  shady  spot  where  the  Boom- 
shers,  otherwise  known  as  the  Crambry 
family,  were  "  lined  up  "  expectantly. 

It  is  not  difficult  to  find  a  single  fool 
in  any  community,  however  small ;  but  a 
family  of  fools  is  fortunately  somewhat 
rarer.  Every  county,  however,  can  boast 
of  one  fool-family,  and  York  County  is  al 
ways  in  the  fashion,  with  fools  as  with 
everything  else.  The  unique,  much-quoted, 
and  undesirable  Boomshers  could  not  be 
claimed  as  indigenous  to  the  Saco  valley, 
for  this  branch  was  an  offshoot  of  a  still 
larger  tribe  inhabiting  a  distant  township. 
Its  beginnings  were  shrouded  in  mystery. 
There  was  a  French-Canadian  ancestor 
somewhere,  and  a  Gipsy  or  Indian  grand 
mother.  They  had  always  intermarried 
from  time  immemorial.  When  one  of  the 
[54] 


'The  Game  o 


selectmen  of  their  native  place  had  been 
asked  why  the  Boomshers  always  married 
cousins,  and  why  the  habit  was  not  dis 
couraged,  he  replied  that  he  really  did  n't 
know  ;  he  s'posed  they  felt  it  would  be  kind 
of  odd  to  go  right  out  and  marry  a  stranger. 
Lest  "  Boomsher  "  seem  an  unusual  sur 
name,  it  must  be  explained  that  the  actual 
name  was  French  and  could  not  be  coped 
with  by  Edgewood  or  Pleasant  River,  being 
something  quite  as  impossible  to  spell  as 
to  pronounce.  As  the  family  had  lived 
for  the  last  few  years  somewhere  near 
the  Killick  Cranberry  Meadows,  they  were 
called  —  and  completely  described  in  the 
calling  —  the  Crambry  fool-family.  A  tal 
ented  and  much  traveled  gentleman  who 
once  stayed  over  night  at  the  Edgewood 
tavern,  proclaimed  it  his  opinion  that  Boom 
sher  had  been  gradually  corrupted  from 
Beaumarchais.  When  he  wrote  the  word 
on  his  visiting  card  and  showed  it  to  Mr. 
Wiley,  Old  Kennebec  had  replied,  that  in 
[55] 


Rose  d  the  River 

the  judgment  of  a  man  who  had  lived  in 
large  places  and  seen  a  tumble  lot  o'  life, 
such  a  name  could  never  have  been  given 
either  to  a  Christian  or  a  heathen  family, 
—  that  the  way  in  which  the  letters  was 
thrown  together  into  it,  and  the  way  in 
which  they  was  sounded  when  read  out 
loud,  was  entirely  ag'in  reason.  It  was  true, 
he  said,  that  Beaumarchais,  bein'  such  a 
fool  name,  might  'a'  be'n  invented  a-pur- 
pose  for  a  fool  family,  but  he  would  n't  hold 
even  with  callin'  'em  Boomsher;  Crambry 
was  well  enough  for  'em  an'  a  sight  easier 
to  speak. 

Stephen  knew  a  good  deal  about  the 
Crambrys,  for  he  passed  their  so-called  hab 
itation  in  going  to  one  of  his  wood-lots.  It 
was  only  a  month  before  that  he  had  found 
them  all  sitting  outside  their  broken-down 
fence,  surrounded  by  decrepit  chairs,  sofas, 
tables,  bedsteads,  bits  of  carpet,  and  stoves. 

"What's  the  matter?"  he  called  out 
from  his  wagon. 

[56] 


The  Game  of  Jackstraws 

"  There  ain't  nothin'  the  matter,"  said 
Alcestis  Crambry.  "  Father 's  dead,  an' 
we're  dividin'  up  the  furnerchure." 

Alcestis  was  the  pride  of  the  Crambrys, 
and  the  list  of  his  attainments  used  often 
to  be  on  his  proud  father's  lips.  It  was  he 
who  was  the  largest,  "  for  his  size,"  in  the 
family  ;  he  who  could  tell  his  brothers  Paul 
and  Arcadus  "  by  their  looks ;  "  he  who 
knew  a  sour  apple  from  a  sweet  one  the 
minute  he  bit  it ;  he  who,  at  the  early  age 
of  ten,  was  bright  enough  to  point  to  the 
cupboard  and  say,  "  Puddin'j  dad  !  " 

Alcestis  had  enjoyed,  in  consequence  of 
his  unusual  intellectual  powers,  some  edu 
cational  privileges,  and  the  Killick  school 
mistress  well  remembered  his  first  day  at 
the  village  seat  of  learning.  Reports  of 
what  took  place  in  this  classic  temple  from 
day  to  day  may  have  been  wafted  to  the 
dull  ears  of  the  boy,  who  was  not  thought 
ready  for  school  until  he  had  attained  the 
ripe  age  of  twelve.  It  may  even  have  been 
[57] 


Rose  o  the  River 

that  specific  rumors  of  the  signs,  symbols, 
and  hieroglyphics  used  in  educational  in 
stitutions  had  reached  him  in  the  obscu 
rity  of  his  cranberry  meadows.  At  all 
events,  when  confronted  by  the  alphabet 
chart,  whose  huge  black  capitals  were  in 
tended  to  capture  the  wandering  eyes  of 
the  infant  class,  Alcestis  exhibited  unusual, 
almost  unnatural,  excitement. 

"  That  is  'A,'  my  boy,"  said  the  teacher 
genially,  as  she  pointed  to  the  first  charac 
ter  on  the  chart. 

"  Good  God,  is  that  '  A  ' !  "  exclaimed  Al 
cestis,  sitting  down  heavily  on  the  nearest 
bench.  And  neither  teacher  nor  scholars 
could  discover  whether  he  was  agreeably 
surprised  or  disappointed  in  the  letter, — 
whether  he  had  expected,  if  he  ever  encoun 
tered  it,  to  find  it  writhing  in  coils  on  the 
floor  of  a  cage,  or  whether  it  simply  bore 
no  resemblance  to  the  ideal  already  estab 
lished  in  his  mind. 

Mrs.  Wiley  had  once  tried  to  make 
[58] 


The  Game  of  yackstraws 

something  of  Mercy,  the  oldest  daughter 
of  the  family,  but  at  the  end  of  six  weeks 
she  announced  that  a  girl  who  could  n't 
tell  whether  the  clock  was  going  "  forrards 
or  backwards,"  and  who  rubbed  a  pocket- 
handkerchief  as  long  as  she  did  a  sheet, 
would  be  no  help  in  her  household. 

The  Crambrys  had  daily  walked  the  five 
or  six  miles  from  their  home  to  the  Edge- 
wood  bridge  during  the  progress  of  the 
drive,  not  only  for  the  social  and  intellec 
tual  advantages  to  be  gained  from  the  com 
pany  present,  but  for  the  more  solid  com 
pensation  of  a  good  meal.  They  all  adored 
Rose,  partly  because  she  gave  them  food, 
and  partly  because  she  was  sparkling  and 
pretty  and  wore  pink  dresses  that  caught 
their  dull  eyes. 

The  afternoon  proved  a  lively  one.    In 

the  first  place,  one  of  the  younger   men 

slipped  into  the  water  between  two  logs, 

part  of  a  lot  chained  together  waiting  to 

[59] 


Rose  o  the  River 

be  let  out  of  the  boom.  The  weight  of  the 
mass  higher  up  and  the  force  of  the  current 
wedged  him  in  rather  tightly,  and  when  he 
had  been  "  pried  "  out  he  declared  that  he 
felt  like  an  apple  after  it  had  been  squeezed 
in  the  cider-mill,  so  he  drove  home,  and 
Rufus  Waterman  took  his  place. 

Two  hours'  hard  work  followed  this  in 
cident,  and  at  the  end  of  that  time  the 
"  bung "  that  reached  from  the  shore  to 
Waterman's  Ledge  (the  rock  where  Pretty 
Quick  met  his  fate)  was  broken  up,  and 
the  logs  that  composed  it  were  started 
down  river.  There  remained  now  only  the 
great  side-jam  at  Gray  Rock.  This  had 
been  allowed  to  grow,  gathering  logs  as 
they  drifted  past,  thus  making  higher 
water  and  a  stronger  current  on  the  other 
side  of  the  rock,  and  allowing  an  easier 
passage  for  the  logs  at  that  point. 

All  was  excitement  now,  for,  this  partic 
ular  piece  of  work  accomplished,  the  boom 
above  the  falls  would  be  "  turned  out,"  and 
[60] 


The  Game  of  Jackstraws 

the  river  would  once  more  be  clear  and 
clean  at  the  Edgewood  bridge. 

Small  boys,  perching  on  the  rocks  with 
their  heels  hanging,  hands  and  mouths 
full  of  red  Astrakhan  apples,  cheered  their 
favorites  to  the  echo,  while  the  drivers 
shouted  to  one  another  and  watched  the 
signs  and  signals  of  the  boss,  who  could 
communicate  with  them  only  in  that  way, 
so  great  was  the  roar  of  the  water. 

The  jam  refused  to  yield  to  ordinary 
measures.  It  was  a  difficult  problem,  for 
the  rocky  river-bed  held  many  a  snare  and 
pitfall.  There  was  a  certain  ledge  under 
the  water,  so  artfully  placed  that  every  log 
striking  under  its  projecting  edges  would 
wedge  itself  firmly  there,  attracting  others 
by  its  evil  example. 

"  That  galoot-boss  ought  to  hev  shoved 
his  crew  down  to  that  jam  this  mornin',v 
grumbled  Old  Kennebec  to  Alcestis  Cram- 
bry,  who  was  always  his  most  loyal  and 
attentive  listener.  "  But  he  would  n't  take 
[61] 


Rose  o  the  River 

no  advice,  not  if  Pharaoh  nor  Boaz  nor 
Herod  nor  Nicodemus  come  right  out  o' 
the  Bible  an'  give  it  to  him.  The  logs  air 
contrary  to-day.  Sometimes  they  '11  go 
along  as  easy  as  an  old  shoe,  an'  other 
times  they  '11  do  nothin'  but  bung,  bung, 
bung !  There  's  a  log  nestlin'  down  in  the 
middle  o'  that  jam  that  I  Ve  be'n  watchin' 
for  a  week.  It 's  a  cur'ous  one,  to  begin 
with  ;  an'  then  it  has  a  mark  on  it  that  you 
can  reco'nize  it  by.  Did  ye  ever  hear  tell 
o'  George  the  Third,  King  of  England, 
Alcestis,  or  ain't  he  known  over  to  the 
crambry  medders  ?  Well,  once  upon  a  time 
men  used  to  go  through  the  forests  over 
here  an'  slash  a  mark  on  the  trunks  o'  the 
biggest  trees.  That  was  the  royal  sign,  as 
you  might  say,  an'  meant  that  the  tree  was 
to  be  taken  over  to  England  to  make  masts 
an'  yard-arms  for  the  King's  ships.  What 
made  me  think  of  it  now  is  that  the  King's 
mark  was  an  arrer,  an'  it's  an  arrer  that's 
on  that  there  log  I  'm  showin'  ye.  Well, 
[62] 


The  Game  of  Jackstraws 

sir,  I  seen  it  fust  at  Milliken's  Mills  a 
Monday.  It  was  in  trouble  then,  an'  it 's 
be'n  in  trouble  ever  sence.  That 's  allers 
the  way ;  there  '11  be  one  pesky,  crooked, 
contrary,  consarned  log  that  can't  go  any 
wheres  without  gittin'  into  difficulties.  You 
can  yank  it  out  an'  set  it  afloat,  an'  before 
you  hardly  git  your  doggin'  iron  off  of  it, 
it  '11  be  snarled  up  agin  in  some  new  place. 
From  the  time  it's  chopped  down  to  the  day 
it  gets  to  Saco,  it  costs  the  Comp'ny  'bout 
ten  times  its  pesky  valler  as  lumber.  Now 
they've  sent  over  to  Benson's  for  a  team 
of  horses,  an'  I  bate  ye  they  can't  git  'em.  I 
wish  I  was  the  boss  on  this  river,  Alcestis." 

"  I  wish  I  was,"  echoed  the  boy. 

"  Well,  your  head-fillin'  ain't  the  right 
kind  for  a  boss,  Alcestis,  an'  you  'd  better 
stick  to  dry  land.  You  set  right  down  here 
while  I  go  back  a  piece  an'  git  the  pipe  out 
o'  my  coat  pocket.  I  guess  nothin'  ain't 
goin'  to  happen  for  a  few  minutes." 

The  surmise  about  the  horses,  unlike 
[63] 


Rose  o  the  River 

most  of  Old  Kennebec's,  proved  to  be  true. 
Benson's  pair  had  gone  to  Portland  with  a 
load  of  hay ;  accordingly  the  tackle  was 
brought,  the  rope  was  adjusted  to  a  log,  and 
five  of  the  drivers,  standing  on  the  river- 
bank,  attempted  to  drag  it  from  its  in 
trenched  position.  It  refused  to  yield  the 
fraction  of  an  inch.  Rufus  and  Stephen 
joined  the  five  men,  and  the  augmented 
crew  of  seven  were  putting  all  their  strength 
on  the  rope  when  a  cry  went  up  from  the 
watchers  on  the  bridge.  The  "  dog  "  had 
loosened  suddenly,  and  the  men  were  flung 
violently  to  the  ground.  For  a  second  they 
were  stunned  both  by  the  surprise  and  by 
the  shock  of  the  blow,  but  in  the  same  mo 
ment  the  cry  of  the  crowd  swelled  louder. 
Alcestis  Crambry  had  stolen,  all  unnoticed, 
to  the  rope,  and  had  attempted  to  use  his 
feeble  powers  for  the  common  good.  When 
the  blow  came  he  fell  backward,  and,  mak 
ing  no  effort  to  control  the  situation,  slid 
over  the  bank  and  into  the  water. 
[64] 


The  Game  of  yackstraws 

The  other  Crambrys,  not  realizing  the 
danger,  laughed  audibly,  but  there  was  no 
jeering  from  the  bridge. 

Stephen  had  seen  Alcestis  slip,  and  in 
the  fraction  of  a  moment  had  taken  off  his 
boots  and  was  coasting  down  the  slippery 
rocks  behind  him ;  in  a  twinkling  he  was 
in  the  water,  almost  as  soon  as  the  boy 
himself. 

"  Doggoned  idjut  !  "  exclaimed  Old 
Kennebec,  tearfully.  "  Wuth  the  hull  fool 
family !  If  I  hed  n't  V  be'n  so  old,  I  'd  V 
jumped  in  myself,  for  you  can't  drownd  a 
Wileyv  not  without  you  tie  nail-kags  to  their 
head  an*  feet  an'  drop  'em  in  the  falls." 

Alcestis,  who  had  neither  brains,  cour 
age,  nor  experience,  had,  better  still,  the 
luck  that  follows  the  witless.  He  was  car 
ried  swiftly  down  the  current;  but,  only 
fifty  feet  away,  a  long,  slender  log,  wedged 
between  two  low  rocks  on  the  shore,  jutted 
out  over  the  water,  almost  touching  its  sur 
face.  The  boy's  clothes  were  admirably 

[65] 


Rose  o  the  River 

adapted  to  the  situation,  being  full  of  enor 
mous  rents.  In  some  way  the  end  of  the 
log  caught  in  the  rags- of  Alcestis's  coat  and 
held  him  just  seconds  enough  to  enable 
Stephen  to  swim  to  him,  to  seize  him  by 
the  nape  of  the  neck,  to  lift  him  on  the  log, 
and  thence  to  the  shore.  It  was  a  particu 
larly  bad  place  for  a  landing,  and  there  was 
nothing  to  do  but  to  lower  ropes  and  drag 
the  drenched  men  to  the  high  ground  above. 

Alcestis  came  to  his  senses  in  ten  or  fif 
teen  minutes,  and  seemed  as  bright  as  usual, 
with  a  kind  of  added  swagger  at  being  the 
central  figure  in  a  dramatic  situation. 

"  I  wonder  you  hed  n't  stove  your  brains 
out,  when  you  landed  so  tumble  suddent  on 
that  rock  at  fhe  foot  of  the  bank,"  said  Mr. 
Wiley  to  him. 

"  I  should,  but  I  took  good  care  to  light 
on  my  head,"  responded  Alcestis  ;  a  cryptic 
remark  which  so  puzzled  Old  Kennebec 
that  he  mused  over  it  for  some  hours. 


Hearts  and  Other  Hearts 


STEPHEN  had  brought  a  change  of 
clothes,  as  he  had  a  habit  of  being 
ducked  once  at  least  during  the  day ;  and 
since  there  was  a  halt  in  the  proceedings 
and  no  need  of  his  services  for  an  hour  or 
two,  he  found  Rose  and  walked  with  her  to 
a  secluded  spot  where  they  could  watch  the 
logs  and  not  be  seen  by  the  people. 

"  You  frightened  everybody  almost  to 
death,  jumping  into  the  river,"  chided  Rose. 

Stephen  laughed.  "  They  thought  I  was 
a  fool  to  save  a  fool,  I  suppose." 

"  Perhaps  not  as  bad  as  that,  but  it  did 
seem  reckless." 

"  I  know;  and  the  boy,  no  doubt,  would 
be  better  off  dead ;  but  so  should  I  be,  if  I 
could  have  let  him  die." 


Rose  o*  the  River 

Rose  regarded  this  strange  point  of  view 
for  a  moment,  and  then  silently  acquiesced 
in  it.  She  was  constantly  doing  this,  and 
she  often  felt  that  her  mental  horizon 
broadened  in  the  act ;  but  she  could  not  be 
sure  that  Stephen  grew  any  dearer  to  her 
because  of  his  moral  altitudes. 

"  Besides,"  Stephen  argued,  "  I  happened 
to  be  nearest  to  the  river,  and  it  was  my 
job." 

"  How  do  you  always  happen  to  be  near 
est  to  the  people  in  trouble,  and  why  is  it 
always  your  '  job  '  ?  " 

"  If  there  are  any  rewards  for  good  con 
duct  being  distributed,  I  'm  right  in  line 
with  my  hand  stretched  out,"  Stephen  re 
plied,  with  meaning  in  his  voice. 

Rose  blushed  under  her  flowery  hat  as 
he  led  the  way  to  a  bench  under  a  syca 
more  tree  that  overhung  the  water. 

She  had  almost  convinced  herself  that 
she  was  as  much  in  love  with  Stephen 
Waterman  as  it  was  in  her  nature  to  be 
[68] 


Hearts  and  Other  Hearts 

with  anybody.  He  was  handsome  in  his 
big  way,  kind,  generous,  temperate,  well 
educated,  and  well-to-do.  No  fault  could 
be  found  with  his  family,  for  his  mother 
had  been  a  teacher,  and  his  father,  though 
a  farmer,  a  college  graduate.  Stephen  him 
self  had  had  one  year  at  Bowdoin,  but  had 
been  recalled,  as  the  head  of  the  house, 
when  his  father  died.  That  was  a  severe 
blow;  but  his  mother's  death,  three  years 
after,  was  a  grief  never  to  be  quite  for 
gotten.  Rose,  too,  was  the  child  of  a 
gently  bred  mother,  and  all  her  instincts 
were  refined.  Yes ;  Stephen  in  himself 
satisfied  her  in  all  the  larger  wants  of  her 
nature,  but  she  had  an  unsatisfied  hunger 
for  the  world,  —  the  world  of  Portland, 
where  her  cousins  lived ;  or,  better  still, 
the  world  of  Boston,  of  which  she  heard 
through  Mrs.  Wealthy  Brooks,  whose 
nephew  Claude  often  came  to  visit  her  in 
Edgewood.  Life  on  a  farm  a  mile  and  a 
half  distant  from  post-office  and  stores;  life 

[69] 


Rose  o  the  River 

in  the  house  with  Rufus,  who  was  rumored 
to  be  somewhat  wild  and  unsteady,  —  this 
prospect  seemed  a  trifle  dull  and  unevent 
ful  to  the  trivial  part  of  her,  though  to  the 
better  part  it  was  enough.  The  better  part 
of  her  loved  Stephen  Waterman,  dimly  feel 
ing  the  richness  of  his  nature,  the  tender 
ness  of  his  affection,  the  strength  of  his 
character.  Rose  was  not  destitute  either 
of  imagination  or  sentiment.  She  did  not 
relish  this  constant  weighing  of  Stephen 
in  the  balance:  he  was  too  good  to  be 
weighed  and  considered.  She  longed  to 
be  carried  out  of  herself  on  a  wave  of  rap 
turous  assent,  but  something  seemed  to 
hold  her  back,  —  some  seed  of  discontent 
with  the  man's  environment  and  circum 
stances,  some  germ  of  longing  for  a  gayer, 
brighter,  more  varied  life.  No  amount  of 
self-searching  or  argument  could  change 
the  situation.  She  always  loved  Stephen 
more  or  less :  more  when  he  was  away  from 
her,  because  she  never  approved  his  col- 
[7o] 


Hearts  and  Other  Hearts 

lars  nor  the  set  of  his  shirt  bosom ;  and  as 
he  naturally  wore  these  despised  articles 
of  apparel  whenever  he  proposed  to  her, 
she  was  always  lukewarm  about  marrying 
him  and  settling  down  on  the  River  Farm. 
Still,  to-day  she  discovered  in  herself,  with 
positive  gratitude,  a  warmer  feeling  for 
him  than  she  had  experienced  before.  He 
wore  a  new  and  becoming  gray  flannel 
shirt,  with  the  soft  turnover  collar  that 
belonged  to  it,  and  a  blue  tie,  the  color 
of  his  kind  eyes.  She  knew  that  he  had 
shaved  his  beard  at  her  request  not  long 
ago,  and  that  when  she  did  not  like  the 
effect  as  much  as  she  had  hoped,  he  had 
meekly  grown  a  mustache  for  her  sake ; 
it  did  seem  as  if  a  man  could  hardly  do 
more  to  please  an  exacting  lady-love. 

And  she  had  admired  him  unreservedly 
when  he  pulled  off  his  boots  and  jumped 
into  the  river  to  save  Alcestis  Crambry's  life, 
without  giving  a  single  thought  to  his  own. 

And  was  there  ever,  after  all,  such  a 
[71] 


Rose  o  the  River 

noble,  devoted,  unselfish  fellow,  or  a  better 
brother  ?  And  would  she  not  despise  her 
self  for  rejecting  him  simply  because  he 
was  countrified,  and  because  she  longed 
to  see  the  world  of  the  fashion-plates  in 
the  magazines  ? 

"  The  logs  are  so  like  people  !  "  she  ex 
claimed,  as  they  sat  down.  "  I  could  name 
nearly  every  one  of  them  for  somebody  in 
the  village.  Look  at  Mite  Shapley,  that 
dancing  little  one,  slipping  over  the  falls 
and  skimming  along  the  top  of  the  water, 
keeping  out  of  all  the  deep  places,  and 
never  once  touching  the  rocks." 

Stephen  fell  into  her  mood.  "  There 's 
Squire  Anderson  coming  down  crosswise 
and  bumping  everything  in  reach.  You 
know  he  's  always  buying  lumber  and  logs 
without  knowing  what  he  is  going  to  do 
with  them.  They  just  lie  and  rot  by  the 
roadside.  The  boys  always  say  that  a 
toad-stool  is  the  old  Squire's  '  mark '  on 
a  log." 


Hearts  and  Other  Hearts 

"  And  that  stout,  clumsy  one  is  Short 
Dennett.  —  What  are  you  doing,  Stephen  ? " 

14  Only  building  a  fence  round  this  clump 
of  harebells,"  Stephen  replied.  "They've 
just  got  well  rooted,  and  if  the  boys  come 
skidding  down  the  bank  with  their  spiked 
shoes,  the  poor  things  will  never  hold  up 
their  heads  again.  Now  they  're  safe.  —  Oh, 
look,  Rose  !  There  come  the  minister  and 
his  wife ! " 

A  portly  couple  of  peeled  logs,  exactly 
matched  in  size,  came  ponderously  over 
the  falls  together,  rose  within  a  second  of 
each  other,  joined  again,  and  swept  under 
the  bridge  side  by  side. 

"  And  —  oh !  oh  !  —  Dr.  and  Mrs.  Cram 
just  after  them!  Is  n't  that  funny  ?  "  laughed 
Rose,  as  a  very  long,  slender  pair  of  pines 
swam  down,  as  close  to  each  other  as  if 
they  had  been  glued  in  that  position.  Rose 
thought,  as  she  watched  them,  who  but 
Stephen  would  have  cared  what  became 
of  the  clump  of  delicate  harebells.  How 
[73] 


Rose  o  the  River 

gentle  such  a  man  would  be  to  a  woman ! 
How  tender  his  touch  would  be  if  she  were 
ill  or  in  trouble ! 

Several  single  logs  followed,  —  crooked 
ones,  stolid  ones,  adventurous  ones,  feeble 
swimmers,  deep  divers.  Some  of  them  tried 
to  start  a  small  jam  on  their  own  account ; 
others  stranded  themselves  for  good  and 
all,  as  Rose  and  Stephen  sat  there  side  by 
side,  with  little  Dan  Cupid  for  an  invisible 
third  on  the  bench. 

"  There  never  was  anything  so  like  peo 
ple,"  Rose  repeated,  leaning  forward  ex 
citedly.  "  And,  upon  my  word,  the  minister 
and  doctor  couples  are  still  together.  I 
wonder  if  they  '11  get  as  far  as  the  falls  at 
Union?  That  would  be  an  odd  place  to 
part,  would  n't  it —  Union  ?  " 

Stephen  saw  his  opportunity,  and  seized 
it. 

"  There  's  a  reason,  Rose,  why  two  logs 
go  down  stream  better  than  one,  and  get 
into  less  trouble.  They  make  a  wider  path, 
[74] 


Hearts  and  Other  Hearts 

create  more  force  and  a  better  current. 
It 's  the  same  way  with  men  and  women. 
Oh,  Rose,  there  is  n't  a  man  in  the  world 
that  's  loved  you  as  long,  or  knows  how  to 
love  you  any  better  than  I  do.  You  're  just 
like  a  white  birch  sapling,  and  I  'm  a  great, 
clumsy  fir  tree ;  but  if  you  '11  only  trust 
yourself  to  me,  Rose,  I  '11  take  you  safely 
down  river." 

Stephen's  big  hand  closed  on  Rose's  little 
one;  she  returned  its  pressure  softly  and 
gave  him  the  kiss  that  with  her,  as  with 
him,  meant  a  promise  for  all  the  years  to 
come.  The  truth  and  passion  in  the  man 
had  broken  the  girl's  bonds  for  the  moment. 
Her  vision  was  clearer,  and,  realizing  the 
treasures  of  love  and  fidelity  that  were 
being  offered  her,  she  accepted  them,  half 
unconscious  that  she  was  not  returning 
them  in  kind.  How  is  the  belle  of  two 
villages  to  learn  that  she  should  "  thank 
Heaven,  fasting,  for  a  good  man's  love  "  ? 

And  Stephen  ?  He  went  home  in  the 
[75] 


Rose  o  the  River 

dusk,  not  knowing  whether  his  feet  were 
touching  the  solid  earth  or  whether  he  was 
treading  upon  rainbows. 

Rose's  pink  calico  seemed  to  brush  him 
as  he  walked  in  the  path  that  was  wide 
enough  only  for  one.  His  solitude  was 
peopled  again  when  he  fed  the  cattle,  for 
Rose's  face  smiled  at  him  from  the  hay 
mow;  and  when  he  strained  the  milk,  Rose 
held  the  pans. 

His  nightly  tasks  over,  he  went  out  and 
took  his  favorite  seat  under  the  apple  tree. 
All  was  still,  save  for  the  crickets'  ceaseless 
chirp,  the  soft  thud  of  an  August  sweeting 
dropping  in  the  grass,  and  the  swish-swash 
of  the  water  against  his  boat,  tethered  in 
the  Willow  Cove. 

He  remembered  when  he  first  saw  Rose, 
for  that  must  have  been  when  he  began  to 
love  her,  though  he  was  only  fourteen  and 
quite  unconscious  that  the  first  seed  had 
been  dropped  in  the  rich  soil  of  his  boyish 
heart. 

[76] 


Hearts  and  Other  Hearts 

He  was  seated  on  the  kerosene  barrel  in 
the  Edgewood  post-office,  which  was  also 
the  general  country  store,  where  newspa 
pers,  letters,  molasses,  nails,  salt  codfish, 
hairpins,  sugar,  liver  pills,  canned  goods, 
beans,  and  ginghams  dwelt  in  genial  prox 
imity.  When  she  entered,  just  a  little  pink- 
and-white  slip  of  a  thing  with  a  tin  pail  in 
her  hand  and  a  sunbonnet  falling  off  her 
wavy  hair,  Stephen  suddenly  stopped  swing 
ing  his  feet.  She  gravely  announced  her 
wants,  reading  them  from  a  bit  of  paper, 
-  i  quart  molasses,  i  package  ginger,  i  Ib. 
cheese,  2  pairs  shoe  laces,  i  card  shirt 
buttons. 

While  the  storekeeper  drew  off  the 
molasses  she  exchanged  shy  looks  with 
Stephen,  who,  clean,  well-dressed,  and  care 
fully  mothered  as  he  was,  felt  all  at  once 
uncouth  and  awkward,  rather  as  if  he  were 
some  clumsy  lout  pitchforked  into  the  pre 
sence  of  a  fairy  queen.  He  offered  her  the 
little  bunch  of  bachelor's  buttons  he  held  in 
[77] 


Rose  yo  the  River 

his  hand,  augury  of  the  future,  had  he  known 
it, — and  she  accepted  them  with  a  smile. 
She  dropped  her  memorandum  ;  he  picked 
it  up,  and  she  smiled  again,  doing  still  more 
fatal  damage  than  in  the  first  instance.  No 
words  were  spoken,  but  Rose,  even  at  ten, 
had  less  need  of  them  than  most  of  her  sex, 
for  her  dimples,  aided  by  dancing  eyes, 
length  of  lashes,  and  curve  of  lips,  quite 
took  the  place  of  conversation.  The  dimples 
tempted,  assented,  denied,  corroborated, 
deplored,  protested,  sympathized,  while  the 
intoxicated  beholder  cudgeled  his  brain 
for  words  or  deeds  which  should  provoke 
and  evoke  more  and  more  dimples. 

The  storekeeper  hung  the  molasses  pail 
over  Rose's  right  arm  and  tucked  the  pack 
ages  under  her  left,  and  as  he  opened  the 
mosquito  netting  door  to  let  her  pass  out 
she  looked  back  at  Stephen,  perched  on  the 
kerosene  barrel.  Just  a  little  girl,  a  little 
glance,  a  little  dimple,  and  Stephen  was 
never  quite  the  same  again.  The  years  went 
[78] 


Hearts  and  Other  Hearts 

on,  and  the  boy  became  man,  yet  no  other 
image  had  ever  troubled  the  deep,  placid 
waters  of  his  heart.  Now,  after  many  de 
nials,  the  hopes  and  longings  of  his  nature 
had  been  answered,  and  Rose  had  promised 
to  marry  him.  He  would  sacrifice  his  pas 
sion  for  logging  and  driving  in  the  future, 
and  become  a  staid  farmer  and  man  of 
affairs,  only  giving  himself  a  river  holiday 
now  and  then.  How  still  and  peaceful  it 
was  under  the  trees,  and  how  glad  his 
mother  would  be  to  think  that  the  old  farm 
would  wake  from  its  sleep,  and  a  woman's 
light  foot  be  heard  in  the  sunny  kitchen ! 

Heaven  was  full  of  silent  stars,  and  there 
was  a  moonglade  on  the  water  that  stretched 
almost  from  him  to  Rose.  His  heart  em 
barked  on  that  golden  pathway  and  sailed 
on  it  to  the  farther  shore.  The  river  was 
free  of  logs,  and  under  the  light  of  the  moon 
it  shone  like  a  silver  mirror.  The  soft  wind 
among  the  fir  branches  breathed  Rose's 
name ;  the  river,  rippling  against  the  shore, 
[79] 


Rose  G   the  River 

sang,  "  Rose ; "  and  as  Stephen  sat  there 
dreaming  of  the  future,  his  dreams,  too, 
could  have  been  voiced  in  one  word,  and 
that  word  "  Rose." 


F  I^HE  autumn  days  flew  past  like  shut- 
A  ties  in  a  loom.  The  river  reflected 
the  yellow  foliage  of  the  white  birch  and 
the  scarlet  of  the  maples.  The  wayside  was 
bright  with  goldenrod,  with  the  red  tassels 
of  the  sumac,  with  the  purple  frost-flower 
and  feathery  clematis. 

If  Rose  was  not  as  happy  as  Stephen,  she 
was  quietly  content,  and  felt  that  she  had 
more  to  be  grateful  for  than  most  girls, 
for  Stephen  surprised  her  with  first  one 
evidence  and  then  another  of  thoughtful 
generosity.  In  his  heart  of  hearts  he  felt 
that  Rose  was  not  wholly  his,  that  she  re 
served,  withheld  something ;  and  it  was  the 
subjugation  of  this  rebellious  province  that 
he  sought.  He  and  Rose  had  agreed  to 

[8.] 


Rose  d  the  River 

wait  a  year  for  their  marriage,  in  which  time 
Rose's  cousin  would  finish  school  and  be 
ready  to  live  with  the  old  people;  mean 
while  Stephen  had  learned  that  his  maiden 
aunt  would  be  glad  to  come  and  keep  house 
for  Rufus.  The  work  at  the  River  Farm 
was  too  hard  for  a  girl,  so  he  had  persuaded 
himself  of  late,  and  the  house  was  so  far 
from  the  village  that  Rose  was  sure  to  be 
lonely.  He  owned  a  couple  of  acres  be 
tween  his  place  and  the  Edgewood  bridge, 
and  here,  one  afternoon  only  a  month  after 
their  engagement,  he  took  Rose  to  see  the 
foundations  of  a  little  house  he  was  build 
ing  for  her.  It  was  to  be  only  a  story-and- 
a-half  cottage  of  six  small  rooms,  the  two 
upper  chambers  to  be  finished  off  later  on. 
Stephen  had  placed  it  well  back  from  the 
road,  leaving  space  in  front  for  what  was  to 
be  a  most  wonderful  arrangement  of  flow 
er-beds,  yet  keeping  a  strip  at  the  back,  on 
the  river-brink,  for  a  small  vegetable  garden. 
There  had  been  a  house  there  years  before 

[82] 


The  Little  House 

—  so  many  years  that  the  blackened  ruins 
were  entirely  overgrown ;  but  a  few  elms 
and  an  old  apple-orchard  remained  to  shade 
the  new  dwelling  and  give  welcome  to  the 
coming  inmates. 

Stephen  had  fifteen  hundred  dollars  in 
bank,  he  could  turn  his  hand  to  almost 
anything,  and  his  love  was  so  deep  that 
Rose's  plumb-line  had  never  sounded  bot 
tom  ;  accordingly  he  was  able,  with  the  help 
of  two  steady  workers,  to  have  the  roof  on 
before  the  first  of  November.  The  weather 
was  clear  and  fine,  and  by  Thanksgiving 
clapboards,  shingles,  two  coats  of  brown 
paint,  and  even  the  blinds  had  all  been 
added.  This  exhibition  of  reckless  energy 
on  Stephen's  part  did  not  wholly  commend 
itself  to  the  neighborhood. 

"  Steve 's  too  turrible  spry,"  said  Rose's 
grandfather ;  "  he  '11  trip  himself  up  some 
o'  these  times." 

"  You  never  will,"  remarked  his  better 
half,  sagely. 

[83] 


Rose  oy  the  River 

"  The  resks  in  life  come  along  fast  enough, 
without  runnin'  to  meet  'em,"  continued  the 
old  man.  "  There  's  good  dough  in  Rose, 
but  it  ain't  more  'n  half  riz.  Let  somebody 
come  along  an'  drop  in  a  little  more  yeast, 
or  set  the  dish  a  little  mite  nearer  the  stove, 
an'  you  '11  see  what  '11  happen." 

"  Steve  's  kept  house  for  himself  some 
time,  an'  I  guess  he  knows  more  about 
bread-rnakin'  than  you  do." 

"  There  don't  nobody  know  more  vn  I  do 
about  nothin',  when  my  pipe  's  drawin'  real 
good  an'  nobody  's  thornin'  me  to  go  to 
work,"  replied  Mr.  Wiley ;  "  but  nobody 's 
willin'  to  take  the  advice  of  a  man  that 's 
seen  the  world  an'  lived  in  large  places,  an' 
the  risin'  generation  is  in  a  turrible  hurry. 
I  don'  know  how  't  is :  young  folks  air 
allers  settin'  the  clock  forrard  an'  the  old 
ones  puttin'  it  back." 

"  Did  you  ketch  anything  for  dinner  when 
you  was  out  this  mornin'  ?  "  asked  his  wife. 

"  No,  I  fished  an'  fished,  till  I  was  about 


The  Little  House 

ready  to  drop,  an'  I  did  git  a  few  shiners, 
but  land,  they  wa'n't  as  big  as  the  worms  I 
was  ketchin'  'em  with,  so  I  pitched  'em 
back  in  the  water  an'  quit." 

During  the  progress  of  these  remarks 
Mr.  Wiley  opened  the  door  under  the  sink, 
and  from  beneath  a  huge  iron  pot  drew  a 
round  tray  loaded  with  a  glass  pitcher  and 
half  a  dozen  tumblers,  which  he  placed  care 
fully  on  the  kitchen  table. 

"  This  is  the  last  day's  option  I  've  got 
on  this  lemonade-set,"  he  said,  "  an'  if  I  'm 
goin'  to  Biddeford  to-morrer  I  Ve  got  to 
make  up  my  mind  here  an'  now." 

With  this  observation  he  took  off  his 
shoes,  climbed  in  his  stocking  feet  to  the 
vantage  ground  of  a  kitchen  chair,  and  lifted 
a  stone  china  pitcher  from  a  corner  of  the 
highest  cupboard  shelf  where  it  had  been 
hidden. 

"  This  lemonade  's  gittin'  kind  o'  dusty," 
he  complained,  "  I  cal'lated  to  hev  a  kind 
of  a  spree  on  it  when  I  got  through  choosin' 
[85] 


Rose  o  the  River 

Rose's  weddin'  present,  but  I  guess  the 
pig  '11  hev  to  help  me  out." 

The  old  man  filled  one  of  the  glasses 
from  the  pitcher,  pulled  up  the  kitchen 
shades  to  the  top,  put  both  hands  in  his 
pockets,  and  walked  solemnly  round  the 
table,  gazing  at  his  offering  from  every 
possible  point  of  view. 

There  had  been  three  lemonade  sets  in 
the  window  of  a  Biddeford  crockery  store 
when  Mr.  Wiley  chanced  to  pass  by,  and 
he  had  brought  home  the  blue  and  green 
one  on  approval. 

To  the  casual  eye  it  would  have  ap 
peared  as  quite  uniquely  hideous  until  the 
red  and  yellow  or  the  purple  and  orange 
ones  had  been  seen ;  after  that,  no  human 
being  could  have  made  a  decision,  where 
each  was  so  unparalleled  in  its  ugliness,  and 
Old  Kennebec's  confusion  of  mind  would 
have  been  perfectly  understood  by  the  con 
noisseur. 

"  How  do  you  like  it  with  the  lemonade 
[86] 


The  Little  House 

in,  mother?"  he  inquired  eagerly.  "The 
thing  that  plagues  me  most  is  that  the  red 
an'  yaller  one  I  hed  home  last  week  lights 
up  better  'n  this,  an'  I  believe  I  '11  settle  on 
that ;  for  as  I  was  thinkin'  last  night  in  bed, 
lemonade  is  mostly  an  evenin'  drink  an7 
Rose  won't  be  usin'  the  set  much  by  day 
light.  Root  beer  looks  the  han'somest  in 
this  purple  set,  but  Rose  loves  lemonade 
better  'n  beer,  so  I  guess  I  '11  pack  up  this 
one  an'  change  it  to-morrer.  Mebbe  when 
I  get  it  out  o'  sight  an'  give  the  lemonade 
to  the  pig  I  '11  be  easier  in  my  mind." 

In  the  opinion  of  the  community  at  large 
Stephen's  forehandedness  in  the  matter  of 
preparations  for  his  marriage  was  impru 
dence,  and  his  desire  for  neatness  and 
beauty  flagrant  extravagance.  The  house 
itself  was  a  foolish  idea,  it  was  thought,  but 
there  were  extenuating  circumstances,  for 
the  maiden  aunt  really  needed  a  home,  and 
Rufus  was  likely  to  marry  before  long  and 
take  his  wife  to  the  River  Farm.  It  was 
[87] 


Rose  o'  the  River 

to  be  hoped  in  his  case  that  he  would  avoid 
the  snares  of  beauty  and  choose  a  good 
stout  girl  who  would  bring  the  dairy  back 
to  what  it  was  in  Mrs.  Waterman's  time. 

All  winter  long  Stephen  labored  on  the 
inside  of  the  cottage,  mostly  by  himself. 
He  learned  all  trades  in  succession,  Love 
being  his  only  master.  He  had  many  odd 
days  to  spare  from  his  farm  work,  and  if  he 
had  not  found  days  he  would  have  taken 
nights.  Scarcely  a  nail  was  driven  without 
Rose's  advice ;  and  when  the  plastering 
was  hard  and  dry,  the  wall-papers  were  the 
result  of  weeks  of  consultation. 

Among  the  quiet  joys  of  life  there  is 
probably  no  other  so  deep,  so  sweet,  so  full 
of  trembling  hope  and  delight,  as  the  build 
ing  and  making  of  a  home,  —  a  home 
where  two  lives  are  to  be  merged  in  one  and 
flow  on  together,  a  home  full  of  mysteri 
ous  and  delicious  possibilities,  hidden  in  a 
future  which  is  always  rose-colored. 

Rose's   sweet    little    nature    broadened 

[88] 


The  Little  House 

under  Stephen's  influence;  but  she  had 
her  moments  of  discontent  and  unrest,  al 
ways  followed  quickly  by  remorse. 

At  the  Thanksgiving  sociable  some  one 
had  observed  her  turquoise  engagement 
ring,  —  some  one  who  said  that  such  a  hand 
was  worthy  of  a  diamond,  that  turquoises 
were  a  pretty  color,  but  that  there  was  only 
one  stone  for  an  engagement  ring,  and  that 
was  a  diamond.  At  the  Christmas  dance 
the  same  some  one  had  said  her  waltzing 
would  make  her  "  all  the  rage  "  in  Boston. 
She  wondered  if  it  were  true,  and  won 
dered  whether,  if  she  had  not  promised  to 
marry  Stephen,  some  splendid  being  from 
a  city  would  have  descended  from  his 
heights,  bearing  diamonds  in  his  hand. 
Not  that  she  would  have  accepted  them  ; 
she  only  wondered.  These  disloyal  thoughts 
came  seldom,  and  she  put  them  resolutely 
away,  devoting  herself  with  all  the  greater 
assiduity  to  her  muslin  curtains  and  ruffled 
pillow-shams.  Stephen,  too,  had  his  mo- 

[89] 


Rose  o   the  River 

mentary  pangs.  There  were  times  when 
he  could  calm  his  doubts  only  by  working 
on  the  little  house.  The  mere  sight  of  the 
beloved  floors  and  walls  and  ceilings  com 
forted  his  heart,  and  brought  him  good 
cheer. 

The  winter  was  a  cold  one,  so  bitterly 
cold  that  even  the  rapid  water  at  the 
Gray  Rock  was  a  mass  of  curdled  yellow 
ice,  something  that  had  only  occurred  once 
or  twice  before  within  the  memory  of  the 
oldest  inhabitant. 

It  was  also  a  very  gay  season  for  Plea 
sant  River  and  Edgewood.  Never  had 
there  been  so  many  card-parties,  sleigh- 
rides  and  tavern  dances,  and  never  such 
wonderful  skating.  The  river  was  one 
gleaming,  glittering  thoroughfare  of  ice 
from  Milliken's  Mills  to  the  dam  at  the 
Edgewood  bridge.  At  sundown  bonfires 
were  built  here  and  there  on  the  mirror- 
like  surface,  and  all  the  young  people  from 
the  neighboring  villages  gathered  on  the 


The  Little  House 

ice ;  while  detachments  of  merry,  rosy- 
cheeked  boys  and  girls,  those  who  preferred 
coasting,  met  at  the  top  of  Brigadier  Hill, 
from  which  one  could  get  a  longer  and 
more  perilous  slide  than  from  any  other 
point  in  the  township. 

Claude  Merrill,  in  his  occasional  visits 
from  Boston,  was  very  much  in  evidence 
at  the  Saturday  evening  ice  parties  He 
was  not  an  artist  at  the  sport  himself,  but 
he  was  especially  proficient  in  the  art  of 
strapping  on  a  lady's  skates,  and  mur 
muring,  —  as  he  adjusted  the  last  buckle, 
— "  The  prettiest  foot  and  ankle  on  the 
river!"  It  cannot  be  denied  that  this 
compliment  gave  secret  pleasure  to  the 
fair  village  maidens  who  received  it,  but 
it  was  a  pleasure  accompanied  by  elec 
tric  shocks  of  excitement.  A  girl's  foot 
might  perhaps  be  mentioned,  if  a  fellow 
were  daring  enough,  but  the  line  was 
rigidly  drawn  at  the  ankle,  which  was  not 
a  part  of  the  human  frame  ever  alluded  to 
[9'] 


Rose  o   the  River 

in  the  polite  society  of  Edgewood  at  that 
time. 

Rose,  in  her  red  linsey-woolsey  dress  and 
her  squirrel  furs  and  cap,  was  the  life  of 
every  gathering,  and  when  Stephen  took 
her  hand  and  they  glided  up  stream,  alone 
together  in  the  crowd,  he  used  to  wish  that 
they  might  skate  on  and  on  up  the  crystal 
ice-path  of  the  river,  to  the  moon  itself, 
whither  it  seemed  to  lead  them. 


'The  Garden  of  Eden 


BUT  the  Saco  all  this  time  was  med 
itating  one  of  its  surprises.  The 
snapping  cold  weather  and  the  depth  to 
which  the  water  was  frozen  were  aiding  it 
in  its  preparation  for  the  greatest  event  of 
the  season.  On  a  certain  gray  Saturday  in 
March,  after  a  week  of  mild  temperature,  it 
began  to  rain  as  if,  after  months  of  snow 
ing,  it  really  enjoyed  a  new  form  of  enter 
tainment.  Sunday  dawned  with  the  very 
flood-gates  of  heaven  opening,  so  it  seemed. 
All  day  long  the  river  was  rising  under  its 
miles  of  unbroken  ice,  rising  at  the  threat 
ening  rate  of  four  inches  an  hour. 

Edgewood  went  to  bed  as  usual  that  night, 
for   the  bridge  at  that  point  was  set  too 
high  to  be  carried  away  by  freshets,  but  at 
[93] 


Rose  o  the  River 

other  villages  whose  bridges  were  in  less 
secure  position  there  was  little  sleep  and 
much  anxiety. 

At  midnight  a  cry  was  heard  from  the 
men  watching  at  Milliken's  Mills.  The 
great  ice  jam  had  parted  from  Rolfe's  Isl 
and  and  was  swinging  out  into  the  open, 
pushing  everything  before  it.  All  the  able- 
bodied  men  in  the  village  turned  out  of 
bed,  and  with  lanterns  in  hand  began  to 
clear  the  stores  and  mills,  for  it  seemed 
that  everything  near  the  river  banks  must 
go  before  that  avalanche  of  ice. 

Stephen  and  Rufus  were  there  helping 
to  save  the  property  of  their  friends  and 
neighbors ;  Rose  and  Mite  Shapley  had 
stayed  the  night  with  a  friend,  and  all  three 
girls  were  shivering  with  fear  and  excite 
ment  as  they  stood  near  the  bridge,  watch 
ing  the  never-to-be-forgotten  sight.  It  is 
needless  to  say  that  the  Crambry  family 
was  on  hand,  for  whatever  instincts  they 
may  have  lacked,  the  instinct  for  being  on 
[94] 


The  Garden  of  Eden 

the  spot  when  anything  was  happening, 
was  present  in  them  to  the  most  remark 
able  extent.  The  town  was  supporting 
them  in  modest  winter  quarters  somewhat 
nearer  than  Killick  to  the  centre  of  civ 
ilization,  and  the  first  alarm  brought  them 
promptly  to  the  scene,  Mrs.  Crambry 
remarking  at  intervals :  "If  I  'd  known 
there  'd  be  so  many  out  I  'd  ought  to  have 
worn  my  bunnit ;  but  I  ain't  got  no  bun- 
nit,  an'  if  I  had  they  say  I  ain't  got  no 
head  to  wear  it  on  ! " 

By  the  time  the  jam  neared  the  falls  it 
had  grown  with  its  accumulations,  until 
it  was  made  up  of  tier  after  tier  of  huge 
ice  cakes,  piled  side  by  side  and  one  upon 
another,  with  heaps  of  trees  and  branches 
and  drifting  lumber  holding  them  in  place. 
Some  of  the  blocks  stood  erect  and  tow 
ered  like  icebergs,  and  these,  glittering  in 
the  lights  of  the  twinkling  lanterns,  pushed 
solemnly  forward,  cracking,  crushing,  and 
cutting  everything  in  their  way.  When 
[95] 


Rose  o'  the  River 

the  great  mass  neared  the  planing  mill  on 
the  east  shore  the  girls  covered  their  eyes, 
expecting  to  hear  the  crash  of  the  falling 
building;  but,  impelled  by  the  force  of 
some  mysterious  current,  it  shook  itself 
ponderously,  and  then,  with  one  magnifi 
cent  movement,  slid  up  the  river  bank, 
tier  following  tier  in  grand  confusion.  This 
left  a  water  way  for  the  main  drift ;  the  ice 
broke  in  every  direction,  and  down,  down, 
down,  from  Bonnie  Eagle  and  Moderation 
swept  the  harvest  of  the  winter  freezing.  It 
came  thundering  over  the  dam,  bringing 
boats,  farming  implements,  posts,  supports, 
and  every  sort  of  floating  lumber  with  it ; 
and  cutting  under  the  flour  mill,  tipped  it 
cleverly  over  on  its  side  and  went  crashing 
on  its  way  down  river.  At  Edgewood  it 
pushed  colossal  blocks  of  ice  up  the  banks 
into  the  roadway,  piling  them  end  upon  end 
ten  feet  in  air.  Then,  tearing  and  rumbling 
and  booming  through  the  narrows,  it  cov 
ered  the  intervale  at  Pleasant  Point  and 
[96] 


The  Garden  of  Eden 

made  a  huge  ice  bridge  below  Union  Falls, 
a  bridge  so  solid  that  it  stood  there  for  days, 
a  sight  for  all  the  neighboring  villages. 

This  exciting  event  would  have  forever 
set  apart  this  winter  from  all  others  in 
Stephen's  memory,  even  had  it  not  been 
also  the  winter  when  he  was  building  a 
house  for  his  future  wife.  But  afterwards, 
in  looking  back  on  the  wild  night  of  the  ice 
freshet,  Stephen  remembered  that  Rose's 
manner  was  strained  and  cold  and  evasive, 
and  that  when  he  had  seen  her  talking  with 
Claude  Merrill,  it  had  seemed  to  him  that 
that  whippersnapper  had  looked  at  her  as 
no  honorable  man  in  Edgewood  ever  looked 
at  an  engaged  girl.  He  recalled  his  throb 
of  gratitude  that  Claude  lived  at  a  safe 
distance,  and  his  subsequent  pang  of  re 
morse  at  doubting,  for  an  instant,  Rose's 
fidelity. 

So  at  length  April  came,  the  Saco  was 
still  high,  turbid,  and  angry,  and  the  boys 
were  waiting  at  Limington  Falls  for  the 
[97] 


Rose  oy  the  River 

"  Ossipee  drive  "  to  begin.  Stephen  joined 
them  there,  for  he  was  restless,  and  the  river 
called  him,  as  it  did  every  spring.  Each 
stubborn  log  that  he  encountered  gave  him 
new  courage  and  power  of  overcoming. 
The  rush  of  the  water,  the  noise  and  roar 
and  dash,  the  exposure  and  danger,  all 
made  the  blood  run  in  his  veins  like  new 
wine.  When  he  came  back  to  the  farm,  all 
the  cobwebs  had  been  blown  from  his  brain, 
and  his  first  interview  with  Rose  was  so 
intoxicating  that  he  went  immediately  to 
Portland,  and  bought,  in  a  kind  of  secret 
penitence  for  his  former  fears,  a  pale  pink- 
flowered  wall-paper  for  the  bedroom  in  the 
new  home.  It  had  once  been  voted  down 
by  the  entire  advisory  committee.  Mrs. 
Wiley  said  pink  was  foolish  and  was  al 
ways  sure  to  fade ;  and  the  border,  being  a 
mass  of  solid  roses,  was  five  cents  a  yard, 
virtually  a  prohibitive  price.  Mr.  Wiley 
said  he  "  should  hate  to  hev  a  spell  of  sick 
ness  an'  lay  abed  in  a  room  where  there 
[98] 


The  Garden  of  Eden 

was  things  growin'  all  over  the  place."  He 
thought  "  rough-plastered  walls,  where  you 
could  lay  an'  count  the  spots  where  the 
roof  leaked,  was  the  most  entertainin'  in 
sickness,"  Rose  had  longed  for  the  lovely 
pattern,  but  had  sided  dutifully  with  the 
prudent  majority,  so  that  it  was  with  a  feel 
ing  of  unauthorized  and  illegitimate  joy 
that  Stephen  papered  the  room  at  night,  a 
few  strips  at  a  time. 

On  the  third  evening,  when  he  had  re 
moved  all  signs  of  his  work,  he  lighted  two 
kerosene  lamps  and  two  candles,  finding 
the  effect,  under  this  illumination,  almost 
too  brilliant  and  beautiful  for  belief.  Rose 
should  never  see  it  now,  he  determined, 
until  the  furniture  was  in  place.  They  had 
already  chosen  the  kitchen  and  bedroom 
things,  though  they  would  not  be  needed 
for  some  months ;  but  the  rest  was  to  wait 
until  summer,  when  there  would  be  the 
hay-money  to  spend. 

Stephen  did  not  go  back  to  the  River 
[99] 


Rose  o   the  River 

Farm  till  one  o'clock  that  night ;  the  pink 
bedroom  held  him  in  fetters  too  powerful 
to  break.  It  looked  like  the  garden  of 
Eden,  he  thought.  To  be  sure,  it  was  only 
fifteen  feet  square ;  Eden  might  have  been 
a  little  larger,  possibly,  but  otherwise  the 
pink  bedroom  had  every  advantage.  The 
pattern  of  roses  growing  on  a  trellis  was 
brighter  than  any  flower-bed  in  June ;  and 
the  border  —  well,  if  the  border  had  been 
five  dollars  a  foot  Stephen  would  not  have 
grudged  the  money  when  he  saw  the 
twenty  running  yards  of  rosy  bloom  riot 
ing  under  the  white  ceiling. 

Before  he  blew  out  the  last  light  he 
raised  it  high  above  his  head  and  took  one 
fond,  final  look.  "  It 's  the  only  place  I 
ever  saw,"  he  thought,  "  that  is  pretty 
enough  for  her.  She  will  look  just  as  if  she 
was  growing  here  with  all  the  other  flow 
ers,  and  I  shall  always  think  of  it  as  the 
garden  of  Eden.  I  wonder,  if  I  got  the 
license  and  the  ring  and  took  her  by  sur- 

[100] 


The  GartkfL\of'£den  V  V 

prise,  whether  she  'd,  be;  m0&$'$fi  /June 
instead  of  August?  I  could  be  all  ready  if 
I  could  only  persuade  her." 

At  this  moment  Stephen  touched  the 
summit  of  happiness ;  and  it  is  a  curious 
coincidence  that  as  he  was  dreaming  in 
his  garden  of  Eden,  the  serpent,  having 
just  arrived  at  Edgewood,  was  sleeping 
peacefully  at  the  bouse  of  Mrs.  Brooks. 

It  was  the  serpent's  fourth  visit  that  sea 
son,  and  he  explained  to  inquiring  friends 
that  his  former  employer  had  sold  the 
business,  and  that  the  new  management, 
while  reorganizing,  had  determined  to  en 
large  the  premises,  the  three  clerks  who 
had  been  retained  having  two  weeks'  va 
cation  with  half  pay. 

It  is  extraordinary  how  frequently  "  wise 
serpents  "  are  regained  by  the  management 
on  half,  or  even  full,  salary,  while  the  ser 
vices  of  the  "  harmless  doves  "  are  dispensed 
with,  and  they  are  set  free  to  flutter  where 
they  wilL 


ROSE  WILEY  had  the  brightest  eyes 
in  Edgewood.  It  was  impossible  to 
look  at  her  without  realizing  that  her  physi 
cal  sight  was  perfect.  What  mysterious 
species  of  blindness  is  it  that  descends,  now 
and  then,  upon  human  creatures,  and  ren 
ders  them  incapable  of  judgment  or  discrim 
ination  ? 

Claude  Merrill  was  a  glove  salesman  in 
a  Boston  fancy-goods  store.  The  calling 
itself  is  undoubtedly  respectable,  and  it  is 
quite  conceivable  that  a  man  can  sell  gloves 
and  still  be  a  man;  but  Claude  Merrill 
was  a  manikin.  He  inhabited  a  very  narrow 
space  behind  a  very  short  counter,  but  to 
him  it  seemed  the  earth  and  the  fullness 
thereof. 

[102] 


The  Serpent 

When,  irreproachably  neat  and  even  ex 
quisite  in  dress,  he  gave  a  Napoleonic 
glance  at  his  array  of  glove-boxes  to  see  if 
the  female  assistant  had  put  them  in  proper 
order  for  the  day ;  when,  with  that  wonder 
ful  eye  for  detail  that  had  wafted  him  to  his 
present  height  of  power,  he  pounced  upon 
the  powder-sprinklers  and  found  them,  as 
he  expected,  empty;  when,  with  masterly 
judgment,  he  had  made  up  and  ticketed  a 
basket  of  misfits  and  odd  sizes  to  attract 
the  eyes  of  women  who  were  their  human 
counterparts,  he  felt  himself  bursting  with 
the  pride  and  pomp  of  circumstance.  His 
cambric  handkerchief  adjusted  in  his  coat 
with  the  monogram  corner  well  displayed, 
a  last  touch  to  the  carefully  trained  lock  on 
his  forehead,  and  he  was  ready  for  his  cus 
tomers. 

"  Six,  did  you  say,  miss  ?  I  should  have 
thought  five  and  three  quarters —  Attend 
to  that  gentleman,  Miss  Dix,  please ;  I  am 
very  busy." 

[103] 


Rose  o   the  River 

"  Six-and-a-half  gray  suede  ?  Here  they 
are,  an  ex^wite  shade.  Shall  I  try  them  on  ? 
The  right  hand,  if  you  will.  Perhaps  you  'd 
better  remove  your  elegant  ring;  I  shouldn't 
like  to  have  anything  catch  in  the  setting." 

"  Miss  Dix  !  Six-and-a-half  black  glace  — 
upper  shelf,  third  box  —  for  this  lady.  She  's 
in  a  hurry.  We  shall  see  you  often  after 
this,  I  hope,  madam." 

"  No ;  we  don't  keep  silk  or  lisle  gloves. 
We  have  no  call  for  them ;  our  customers 
prefer  kid." 

Oh,  but  he  was  in  his  element,  was  Claude 
Merrill ;  though  the  glamour  that  sur 
rounded  him  in  the  minds  of  the  Edge- 
wood  girls  did  not  emanate  wholly  from  his 
finicky  little  person :  something  of  it  was 
the  glamour  that  belonged  to  Boston, —  re 
mote,  fashionable,  gay,  rich,  almost  inacces 
sible  Boston,  which  none  could  see  without 
the  expenditure  of  five  or  six  dollars  in  rail 
way  fare,  with  the  added  extravagance  of 
a  night  in  a  hotel,  if  one  would  explore  it 
[104] 


The  Serpent 

thoroughly  and  come  home  possessed  of 
all  its  illimitable  treasures  of  wisdom  and 
experience. 

When  Claude  came  to  Edgewood  for  a 
Sunday,  or  to  spend  a  vacation  with  his 
aunt,  he  brought  with  him  something  of  the 
magic  of  a  metropolis.  Suddenly,  to  Rose's 
eye,  Stephen  looked  larger  and  clumsier, 
his  shoes  were  not  the  proper  sort,  his 
clothes  were  ordinary,  his  neckties  were 
years  behind  the  fashion.  Stephen's  dan 
cing,  compared  with  Claude's,  was  as  the 
deliberate  motion  of  an  ox  to  the  hopping 
of  a  neat  little  robin.  When  Claude  took  a 
girl's  hand  in  the  "  grand  right-and-left."  it 
was  as  if  he  were  about  to  try  on  a  delicate 
glove ;  the  manner  in  which  he  "  held  his 
lady  "  in  the  polka  or  schottische  made  her 
seem  a  queen.  Mite  Shapley  was  so  affected 
by  it  that  when  Rufus  attempted  to  encircle 
her  for  the  mazurka  she  exclaimed,  "  Don't 
act  as  if  you  were  spearing  logs,  Rufus ! " 

Of  the  two  men,  Stephen  had  more  to 


Rose  o   the  River 

say,  but  Claude  said  more.  He  was  thought 
brilliant  in  conversation ;  but  what  wonder, 
when  one  considered  his  advantages  and  his 
dazzling  experiences !  He  had  customers 
who  were  worth  their  thousands;  ladies 
whose  fingers  never  touched  dish-water; 
ladies  who  would  n't  buy  a  glove  of  any 
body  else  if  they  went  bare-handed  to  the 
grave.  He  lived  with  his  sister  Maude 
Arthurlena  in  a  house  where  there  were 
twenty-two  other  boarders  who  could  be 
seated  at  meals  all  at  the  same  time,  so  im 
mense  was  the  dining-room.  He  ate  his 
dinner  at  a  restaurant  daily,  and  expended 
twenty-five  cents  for  it  without  blenching. 
He  went  to  the  theatre  once  a  week,  and 
was  often  accompanied  by  "  lady  friends  " 
who  were  "  elegant  dressers." 

In  a  moment  of  wrath  Stephen  had 
called  him  a  "  counter-jumper,"  but  it  was 
a  libel.  So  short  and  rough  a  means  of 
exit  from  his  place  of  power  was  wholly 
beneath  Claude's  dignity.  It  was  with  a 
[,06] 


The  Serpent 

"Pardon  me,  Miss  Dix,"  that,  the  noon 
hour  having  arrived,  he  squeezed  by  that 
slave  and  victim,  and  raising  the  hinged 
board  that  separated  his  kingdom  from 
that  of  the  ribbon  department,  passed  out 
of  the  store,  hat  in  hand,  serene  in  the 
consciousness  that  though  other  clerks 
might  nibble  luncheon  from  a  brown  paper 
bag,  he  would  speedily  be  indulging  in  an 
expensive  repast ;  and  Miss  Dix  knew  it, 
and  it  was  a  part  of  his  almost  invincible 
attraction  for  her. 

It  seemed  flying  in  the  face  of  Provi 
dence  to  decline  the  attentions  of  such  a 
gorgeous  butterfly  of  fashion  simply  be 
cause  one  was  engaged  to  marry  another 
man  at  some  distant  day. 

All  Edgewood  femininity  united  in  say 
ing  that  there  never  was  such  a  perfect 
gentleman  as  Claude  Merrill ;  and  during 
the  time  when  his  popularity  was  at  its 
height  Rose  lost  sight  of  the  fact  that 
Stephen  could  have  furnished  the  stuff  for 
[107] 


Rose  o   the  River 

a  dozen  Claudes  and  have  had  enough  left 
for  an  ordinary  man  besides. 

April  gave  place  to  May,  and  a  veil  hung 
between  the  lovers,  —  an  intangible,  gos 
samer-like  thing,  not  to  be  seen  with  the 
naked  eye,  but,  oh!  so  plainly  to  be  felt. 
Rose  hid  herself  thankfully  behind  it,  while 
Stephen  had  not  courage  to  lift  a  corner. 
She  had  twice  been  seen  driving  with 
Claude  Merrill  —  that  Stephen  knew ;  but 
she  had  explained  that  there  were  errands 
to  be  done,  that  her  grandfather  had  taken 
the  horse,  and  that  Mr.  Merrill's  escort  had 
been  both  opportune  and  convenient  for 
these  practical  reasons.  Claude  was  every 
where  present,  the  centre  of  attraction, 
the  observed  of  all  observers.  He  was  irre 
sistible,  contagious,  almost  epidemic.  Rose 
was  now  gay,  now  silent;  now  affection 
ate,  now  distant,  now  coquettish ;  in  fme> 
everything  that  was  capricious,  mysteri 
ous,  agitating,  incomprehensible. 

One  morning   Alcestis   Crambry  went 
[108] 


The  Serpent 

to  the  post-office  for  Stephen  and  brought 
him  back  the  newspapers  and  letters.  He 
hlad  hung  about  the  River  Farm  so  much 
that  Stephen  finally  gave  him  bed  and  food 
in  exchange  for  numberless  small  errands. 
Rufus  was  temporarily  confined  in  a  dark 
room  with  some  strange  pain  and  trouble 
in  his  eyes,  and  Alcestis  proved  of  use  in 
many  ways.  He  had  always  been  Rose's 
slave,  and  had  often  brought  messages  and 
notes  from  the  Brier  Neighborhood,  so  that 
when  Stephen  saw  a  folded  note  among 
the  papers  his  heart  gave  a  throb  of  antici 
pation. 

The  note  was  brief,  and  when  he  had 
glanced  through  it  he  said :  "  This  is  not 
mine,  Alcestis;  it  belongs  to  Miss  Rose. 
Go  straight  back  and  give  it  to  her  as  you 
were  told;  and  another  time  keep  your 
wits  about  you,  or  I'll  send  you  back  to 
Killick." 

Alcestis  Crambry's  ideas  on  all  subjects 
were  extremely  vague.  Claude  Merrill  had 
[109] 


Rose  o  the  River 

given  him  a  letter  for  Rose,  but  his  notion 
was  that  anything  that  belonged  to  her 
belonged  to  Stephen,  and  the  Waterman 
place  was  much  nearer  than  the  Wileys', 
particularly  at  dinner-time ! 

When  the  boy  had  slouched  away,  Ste 
phen  sat  under  the  apple  tree,  now  a  mass 
of  roseate  bloom,  and  buried  his  face  in  his 
hands. 

It  was  not  precisely  a  love-letter  that 
he  had  read,  nevertheless  it  blackened  the 
light  of  the  sun  for  him.  Claude  asked 
Rose  to  meet  him  anywhere  on  the  road 
to  the  station  and  to  take  a  little  walk,  as 
he  was  leaving  that  afternoon  and  could 
not  bear  to  say  good-by  to  her  in  the  pre 
sence  of  her  grandmother.  "  Under  the  cir 
cumstances?  he  wrote,  deeply  underlining 
the  words,  "  I  cannot  remain  a  moment 
longer  in  Edgewood,  where  I  have  been 
so  happy  and  so  miserable ! "  He  did  not 
refer  to  the  fact  that  the  time  limit  on  his 
return-ticket  expired  that  day,  for  his  dra- 
[110] 


The  Serpent 

matic  instinct  told  him  that  such  sordid 
matters  have  no  place  in  heroics. 

Stephen  sat  motionless  under  the  tree 
for  an  hour,  deciding  on  some  plan  of  action. 

He  had  work  at  the  little  house,  but  he 
did  not  dare  go  there  lest  he  should  see 
the  face  of  dead  Love  looking  from  the 
windows  of  the  pink  bedroom  ;  dead  Love, 
cold,  sad,  merciless.  His  cheeks  burned 
as  he  thought  of  the  marriage  license  and 
the  gold  ring  hidden  away  upstairs  in 
the  drawer  of  his  shaving  stand.  What  a 
romantic  fool  he  had  been,  to  think  he 
could  hasten  the  glad  day  by  a  single  mo 
ment!  What  a  piece  of  boyish  folly  it  had 
been,  and  how  it  shamed  him  in  his  own 
eyes! 

When  train  time  drew  near  he  took  his 
boat  and  paddled  down  stream.  If  for  the 
Finland  loyer's  reindeer  there  was  but  one 
path  in  all  the  world,  and  that  the  one  that 
led  to  Her,  so  it  was  for  Stephen's  canoe, 
which,  had  it  been  set  free  on  the  river  by 
[in] 


Rose  o  the  River 

day  or  by  night,  might  have  floated  straight 
to  Rose. 

He  landed  at  the  usual  place,  a  bit  of 
sandy  shore  near  the  Wiley  house,  and 
walked  drearily  up  the  bank  through  the 
woods.  Under  the  shade  of  the  pines  the 
white  stars  of  the  hepatica  glistened  and 
the  pale  anemones  were  coming  into  bloom. 
Partridge-berries  glowed  red  under  their 
glossy  leaves,  and  clumps  of  violets  sweet 
ened  the  air.  Squirrels  chattered,  wood 
peckers  tapped,  thrushes  sang;  but  Ste 
phen  was  blind  and  deaf  to  all  the  sweet 
harbingers  of  spring. 

Just  then  he  heard  voices,  realizing  with 
a  throb  of  delight  that,  at  any  rate,  Rose 
had  not  left  home  to  meet  Claude,  as  he 
had  asked  her  to  do.  Looking  through  the 
branches,  he  saw  the  two  standing  to 
gether,  Mrs.  Brooks's  horse,  with  the  offen 
sive  trunk  in  the  back  of  the  wagon,  being 
hitched  to  a  tree  near  by.  There  was  no 
thing  in  the  tableau  to  stir  Stephen  to 


The  Serpent 

fury,  but  he  read  between  the  lines  and 
suffered  as  he  read  —  suffered  and  deter 
mined  to  sacrifice  himself  if  he  must,  so 
that  Rose  could  have  what  she  wanted, 
this  miserable  apology  for  a  man.  He  had 
never  been  the  husband  for  Rose ;  she 
must  take  her  place  in  a  larger  community, 
worthy  of  her  beauty  and  charm. 

Claude  was  talking  and  gesticulating 
ardently.  Rose's  head  was  bent  and  the 
tears  were  rolling  down  her  cheeks.  Sud 
denly  Claude  raised  his  hat,  and  with  a 
passionate  gesture  of  renunciation  walked 
swiftly  to  the  wagon,  and  looking  back 
once,  drove  off  with  the  utmost  speed  of 
which  the  Brooks's  horse  was  capable,— 
Rose  waving  him  a  farewell  with  one  hand 
and  wiping  her  eyes  with  the  other. 


The  Turquoise  Ring 


STEPHEN  stood  absolutely  still  in 
front  of  the  opening  in  the  trees,  and 
as  Rose  turned  she  met  him  face  to  face. 
She  had  never  dreamed  his  eyes  could  be 
so  stern,  his  mouth  so  hard,  and  she  gave 
a  sob  like  a  child. 

"You  seem  to  be  in  trouble,"  Stephen 
said  in  a  voice  so  cold  she  thought  it  could 
not  be  his. 

"  I  am  not  in  trouble,  exactly,"  Rose  stam 
mered,  concealing  her  discomfiture  as  well 
as  possible.  "  I  am  a  little  unhappy  because 
I  have  made  some  one  else  unhappy;  and 
now  that  you  know  it,  you  will  be  unhappy 
too,  and  angry  besides,  I  suppose,  though 
you  've  seen  everything  there  was  to  see." 

"  There  is  no  occasion  for  sorrow," 
[M4] 


The  Turquoise  Rmg 

Stephen  said.  "  I  did  n't  mean  to  break  in 
on  any  interview ;  I  came  over  to  give  you 
back  your  freedom.  If  you  ever  cared  enough 
for  me  to  marry  me,  the  time  has  gone  by. 
I  am  willing  to  own  that  I  over-persuaded 
you,  but  I  am  not  the  man  to  take  a  girl 
against  her  inclinations,  so  we  will  say 
good-by  and  end  the  thing  here  and  now. 
I  can  only  wish  " — here  his  smothered  rage 
at  fate  almost  choked  him  —  "  that,  when 
you  were  selecting  another  husband,  you 
had  chosen  a  whole  man !  " 

Rose  quivered  with  the  scorn  of  his  tone. 
"  Size  is  n't  everything !  "  she  blazed. 

"  Not  in  bodies,  perhaps ;  but  it  counts 
for  something  in  hearts  and  brains,  and  it 
is  convenient  to  have  a  sense  of  honor  that's 
at  least  as  big  as  a  grain  of  mustard-seed." 

"  Claude  Merrill  is  not  dishonorable," 
Rose  exclaimed  impetuously ;  "  or  at  least 
he  is  n't  as  bad  as  you  think :  he  has  never 
asked  me  to  marry  him." 

"  Then  he  probably  was  not  quite  ready 
["5] 


Rose  o  the  River 

to  speak,  or  perhaps  you  were  not  quite 
ready  to  hear,"  retorted  Stephen,  bitterly ; 
"  but  don't  let  us  have  words,  —  there  '11  be 
enough  to  regret  without  adding  those.  I 
have  seen,  ever  since  New  Year's,  that  you 
were  not  really  happy  or  contented ;  only 
I  would  n't  allow  it  to  myself:  I  kept  hoping 
against  hope  that  I  was  mistaken.  There 
have  been  times  when  I  would  have  married 
you,  willing  or  unwilling,  but  I  did  n't  love 
you  so  well  then ;  and  now  that  there 's 
another  man  in  the  case,  it 's  different,  and 
I  'm  strong  enough  to  do  the  right  thing. 
Follow  your  heart  and  be  happy ;  in  a  year 
or  two  I  shall  be  glad  I  had  the  grit  to  tell 
you  so.  Good-by,  Rose  !  " 

Rose,  pale  with  amazement,  summoned 
all  her  pride,  and  drawing  the  turquoise 
engagement  ring  from  her  finger,  handed 
it  silently  to  Stephen,  hiding  her  face  as  he 
flung  it  vehemently  down  the  river-bank. 
His  dull  eyes  followed  it  and  half  uncom- 
prehendingly  saw  it  settle  and  glisten  in  a 
[,,6] 


HIDING   HER   FACE  AS   HE   FLUNG   IT   DOWN   THE   RIVER-BANK 


"The  Turquoise  Ring 

nest  of  brown  pine-needles.  Then  he  put 
out  his  hand  for  a  last  clasp  and  strode 
away  without  a  word. 

Presently  Rose  heard  first  the  scrape  of 
his  boat  on  the  sand,  then  the  soft  sound 
of  his  paddles  against  the  water,  then  no 
thing  but  the  squirrels  and  the  woodpeck 
ers  and  the  thrushes/  then  not  even  these, — 
nothing  but  the  beating  of  her  own  heart. 

She  sat  down  heavily,  feeling  as  if  she 
were  wide  awake  for  the  first  time  in  many 
weeks.  How  had  things  come  to  this  pass 
with  her  ? 

Claude  Merrill  had  flattered  her  vanity 
and  given  her  some  moments  of  restless 
ness  and  dissatisfaction  with  her  lot ;  but 
he  had  not  until  to-day  really  touched  her 
heart  or  tempted  her,  even  momentarily, 
from  her  allegiance  to  Stephen.  His  eyes 
had  always  looked  unspeakable  things  ;  his 
voice  had  seemed  to  breathe  feelings  that  he 
had  never  dared  put  in  words ;  but  to-day 
he  had  really  stirred  her,  for  although  he 


Rose  o  the  River 

had  still  been  vague,  it  was  easy  to  see  that 
his  love  for  her  had  passed  all  bounds  of  dis 
cretion.  She  remembered  his  impassioned 
farewells,  his  despair,  his  doubt  as  to  whether 
he  could  forget  her  by  plunging  into  the 
vortex  of  business,  or  whether  he  had  bet 
ter  end  it  all  in  the  river,  as  so  many  other 
broken-hearted  fellows  had  done.  She  had 
been  touched  by  his  misery,  even  against 
her  better  judgment ;  and  she  had  intended 
to  confess  it  all  to  Stephen  sometime,  tell 
ing  him  that  she  should  never  again  accept 
attentions  from  a  stranger,  lest  a  tragedy 
like  this  should  happen  twice  in  a  lifetime. 
She  had  imagined  that  Stephen  would  be 
his  large-minded,  great-hearted,  magnani 
mous  self,  and  beg  her  to  forget  this  fas 
cinating  will-o'-the-wisp  by  resting  in  his 
deeper,  serener  love.  She  had  meant  to  be 
contrite  and  faithful,  praying  nightly  that 
poor  Claude  might  live  down  his  present 
anguish,  of  which  she  had  been  the  inno 
cent  cause. 

[118] 


The  Turquoise  Ring 

Instead,  what  had  happened  ?  She  had 
been  put  altogether  in  the  wrong.  Stephen 
had  almost  cast  her  off,  and  that,  too,  with 
out  argument.  He  had  given  her  her  lib 
erty  before  she  had  asked  for  it,  taking  it 
for  granted,  without  question,  that  she  de 
sired  to  be  rid  of  him.  Instead  of  comfort 
ing  her  in  her  remorse,  or  sympathizing 
with  her  for  so  nobly  refusing  to  shine  in 
Claude's  larger  world  of  Boston,  Stephen 
had  assumed  that  she  was  disloyal  in  every 
particular. 

And  pray  how  was  she  to  cope  with  such 
a  disagreeable  and  complicated  situation  ? 

It  would  not  be  long  before  the  gossips 
rolled  under  their  tongues  the  delicious 
morsel  of  a  broken  engagement,  and  sooner 
or  later  she  must  brave  the  displeasure  of 
her  grandmother. 

And  the  little  house  —  that  was  worse 
than  anything.  Her  tears  flowed  faster  as 
she  thought  of  Stephen's  joy  in  it,  of  his 
faithful  labor,  of  the  savings  he  had  in- 


Rose  o  the  River 

vested  in  it.  She  hated  and  despised  her 
self  when  she  thought  of  the  house,  and 
for  the  first  time  in  her  life  she  realized  the 
limitations  of  her  nature,  the  poverty  of 
her  ideals. 

What  should  she  do?  She  had  lost 
Stephen  and  ruined  his  life.  Now,  in  or 
der  that  she  need  not  blight  a  second 
career,  must  she  contrive  to  return  Claude's 
love  ?  To  be  sure,  she  thought,  it  seemed 
indecent  to  marry  any  other  man  than 
Stephen,  when  they  had  built  a  house 
together,  and  chosen  wall-papers,  and  a 
kitchen  stove,  and  dining-room  chairs ;  but 
was  it  not  the  only  way  to  evade  the 
difficulties  ? 

Suppose  that  Stephen,  in  a  fit  of  pique, 
should  ask  somebody  else  to  share  the  new 
cottage  ? 

As  this  dreadful  possibility  came  into 
view,  Rose's  sobs  actually  frightened  the 
birds  and  the  squirrels.  She  paced  back 
and  forth  under  the  trees,  wondering  how 

[120] 


The  Turquoise  Ring 

she  could  have  been  engaged  to  a  man  for 
eight  months  and  know  so  little  about  him 
as  she  seemed  to  know  about  Stephen 
Waterman  to-day.  Who  would  have  be 
lieved  he  could  be  so  autocratic,  so  severe, 
so  unapproachable  ?  Who  could  have  fore 
seen  that  she,  Rose  Wiley,  would  ever  be 
given  up  to  another  man,  —  handed  over 
as  coolly  as  if  she  had  been  a  bale  of  cot 
ton  ?  She  wanted  to  return  Claude  Merrill's 
love  because  it  was  the  only  way  out  of 
the  tangle ;  but  at  the  moment  she  almost 
hated  him  for  making  so  much  trouble,  for 
hurting  Stephen,  for  abasing  her  in  her 
own  eyes,  and,  above  all,  for  giving  her 
rustic  lover  the  chance  of  impersonating 
an  injurec1  emperor. 

It  did  not  simplify  the  situation  to  have 
Mite  Shapley  come  in  during  the  evening 
and  run  upstairs,  uninvited,  to  sit  on  the 
toot  of  her  bed  and  chatter. 

Rose  had  closed  her  blinds  and  lay  in 
the  dark,  pleading  a  headache. 


Rose  o  the  River 

Mite  was  in  high  feather.  She  had  met 
Claude  Merrill  going  to  the  station  that 
afternoon.  He  was  much  too  early  for  the 
train,  which  the  station  agent  reported  to 
be  behind  time,  so  he  had  asked  her  to 
take  a  drive.  She  did  n't  know  how  it  hap 
pened,  for  he  looked  at  his  watch  every 
now  and  then;  but,  anyway,  they  got  to 
laughing  and  "  carrying  on,"  and  when  they 
came  back  to  the  station  the  train  had 
gone.  Was  n't  that  the  greatest  joke  of  the 
season  ?  What  did  Rose  suppose  they  did 
next? 

Rose  did  n't  know  and  did  n't  care  ;  her 
head  ached  too  badly. 

Well,  they  had  driven  to  Wareham,  and 
Claude  had  hired  a  livery  team  there,  and 
had  been  taken  into  Portland  with  his 
trunk,  and  she  had  brought  Mrs.  Brooks's 
horse  back  to  Edgewood.  Was  n't  that 
ridiculous  ?  And  had  n't  she  cut  out  Rose 
where  she  least  expected  ? 

Rose  was  distinctly  apathetic,  and  Mite 

[122] 


The  Turquoise  Ring 

Shapley  departed  after  a  very  brief  call, 
leaving  behind  her  an  entirely  new  train 
of  thought. 

If  Claude  Merrill  were  so  love-blighted 
that  he  could  only  by  the  greatest  self-con 
trol  keep  from  flinging  himself  into  the 
river,  how  could  he  conceal  his  sufferings 
so  completely  from  Mite  Shapley,  —  little 
shallow-pated,  scheming  coquette  ? 

"  So  that  pretty  Merrill  feller  has  gone, 
has  he,  mother?  "  inquired  Old  Kennebec 
that  night,  as  he  took  off  his  wet  shoes  and 
warmed  his  feet  at  the  kitchen  oven. 
"  Well,  it  ain  t  a  mite  too  soon.  I  allers  dis 
trust  that  pink-an'-white,  rosy-posy  kind  of 
a  man.  One  of  the  most  tumble  things 
that  ever  happened  in  Gard'ner  was  brought 
about  by  jest  sech  a  feller.  Mothers  hed  n't 
hardly  ought  to  name  their  boy  babies 
Claude  without  they  expect  'em  to  play  the 
dickens  with  the  girls.  I  don'  know  nothin' 
'bout  the  fust  Claude,  there  ain't  none  of 
["3] 


Rose  o  the  River 

'em  in  the  Bible,  air  they,  but  whoever  he 
was,  I  bate  ye  he  hed  a  deceivin'  tongue. 
If  it  hed  n't  be'n  for  me,  that  Claude  in 
Gard'ner  would  'a'  run  away  with  my  bro 
ther's  fust  wife ;  an'  I  '11  tell  ye  jest  how  I 
contrived  to  put  a  spoke  in  his  wheel." 

But  Mrs.  Wiley,  being  already  somewhat 
familiar  with  the  circumstances,  had  taken 
her  candle  and  retired  to  her  virtuous 
couch. 


Rose  sees  the  World 


WAS  this  the  world,  after  all  ?  Rose 
asked  herself ;  and,  if  so,  what  was 
amiss  with  it,  and  where  was  the  charm, 
the    bewilderment,   the    intoxication,    the 
glamour  ? 

She  had  been  glad  to  come  to  Boston, 
for  the  last  two  weeks  in  Edgewood  had 
proved  intolerable.  She  had  always  been  a 
favorite  heretofore,  from  the  days  when  the 
boys  fought  for  the  privilege  of  dragging 
her  sled  up  the  hills,  and  filling  her  tiny 
mitten  with  peppermints,  down  to  the  year 
when  she  came  home  from  the  Wareham 
Female  Seminary,  an  acknowledged  belle 
and  beauty.  Suddenly  she  had  felt  her  popu 
larity  dwindling.  There  was  no  real  change 
in  the  demeanor  of  her  acquaintances,  but 


Rose  o  the  River 

there  was  a  certain  subtle  difference  of  at 
mosphere.  Everybody  sympathized  tacitly 
with  Stephen,  and  she  did  not  wonder,  for 
there  were  times  when  she  secretly  took 
his  part  against  herself.  Only  a  few  candid 
friends  had  referred  to  the  rupture  openly 
in  conversation,  but  these  had  been  blunt 
in  their  disapproval. 

It  seemed  part  of  her  ill  fortune  that  just 
at  this  time  Rufus  should  be  threatened 
with  partial  blindness,  and  that  Stephen's 
heart,  already  sore,  should  be  torn  with  new 
anxieties.  She  could  hardly  bear  to  see 
the  doctor's  carriage  drive  by  day  after  day, 
and  hear  night  after  night  that  Rufus  was 
unresigned,  melancholy,  half  mad ;  while 
Stephen,  as  the  doctor  said,  was  brother, 
mother,  and  father  in  one,  as  gentle  as  a 
woman,  as  firm  as  Gibraltar. 

These   foes    to  her  peace  of  mind  all 

came  from  within ;   but   without  was  the 

hourly  reproach  of  her  grandmother,  whose 

scorching  tongue  touched  every  sensitive 

[126] 


Rose  sees  the  World 

spot  in  the  giiTs  nature  and  burned  it  like 
fire. 

Finally  a  way  of  escape  opened.  Mrs. 
Wealthy  Brooks,  who  had  always  been 
rheumatic,  grew  suddenly  worse.  She  had 
heard  of  a  "  magnetic  "  physician  in  Boston, 
also  of  one  who  used  electricity  with  won 
derful  effect,  and  she  announced  her  inten 
tion  of  taking  both  treatments  impartially 
and  alternately.  The  neighbors  were  quite 
willing  that  Wealthy  Ann  Brooks  should 
spend  the  deceased  Ezra's  money  in  any 
way  she  pleased,  —  she  had  earned  it, 
goodness  knows,  by  living  with  him  for 
twenty-five  years,  —  but  before  the  day 
for  her  departure  arrived  her  right  arm 
and  knee  became  so  much  more  painful 
that  it  was  impossible  for  her  to  travel 
alone. 

At  this  juncture  Rose  was  called  upon  to 

act  as  nurse  and  companion  in  a  friendly 

way.    She  seized  the  opportunity  hungrily 

as  a  way  out  of  her  present  trouble  ;  but, 

[127] 


Rose  o  the  River 

knowing  what  Mrs.  Brooks's  temper  was 
in  time  of  health,  she  could  see  clearly  what 
it  was  likely  to  prove  when  pain  and  anguish 
wrung  the  brow. 

Rose  had  been  in  Boston  now  for  some 
weeks,  and  she  was  sitting  in  the  Joy  Street 
boarding-house,  —  Joy  Street,  forsooth !  It 
was  nearly  bedtime,  and  she  was  looking 
out  upon  a  huddle  of  roofs  and  back  yards, 
upon  a  landscape  filled  with  clothes-lines, 
ash-barrels,  and  ill-fed  cats.  There  were  no 
sleek  country  tabbies,  with  the  memory  in 
their  eyes  of  tasted  cream,  nothing  but  city- 
born,  city-bred,  thin,  despairing  cats  of  the 
pavement,  cats  no  more  forlorn  than  Rose 
herself. 

She  had  "  seen  Boston,"  for  she  had  ac 
companied  Mrs.  Brooks  in  the  horse-cars 
daily  to  the  two  different  temples  of  healing 
where  that  lady  worshipped  and  offered 
sacrifices.  She  had  also  gone  with  Maude 
Arthurlena  to  Claude  Merrill's  store  to  buy 
a  pair  of  gloves,  and  had  overheard  Miss 

[,28] 


SHE    HAD   GONE   WITH    MAUDE   TO   CLAUDE'S    STORE 


Rose  sees  the  World 

Dix  (the  fashionable  "lady-assistant"  be 
fore  mentioned)  say  to  Miss  Brackett  of  the 
ribbon  department,  that  she  thought  Mr. 
Merrill  must  have  worn  his  blinders  that 
time  he  stayed  so  long  in  Edgewood.  This 
bit  of  polished  irony  was  unintelligible  to 
Rose  at  first,  but  she  mastered  it  after  an 
hour's  reflection.  She  was  n't  looking  her 
best  that  day,  she  knew ;  the  cotton  dresses 
that  seemed  so  pretty  at  home  were  com 
mon  and  countrified  here,  and  her  best  black 
cashmere  looked  cheap  and  shapeless  be 
side  Miss  Dix's  brilliantine.  Miss  Dix's 
figure  was  her  strong  point,  and  her  dress 
maker  was  particularly  skillful  in  the  arts 
of  suggestion,  concealment,  and  revelation. 
Beauty  has  its  chosen  backgrounds.  Rose 
in  white  dimity,  standing  knee  deep  in  her 
blossoming  brier  bushes,  the  river  running 
at  her  feet,  dark  pine  trees  behind  her  grace 
ful  head,  sounded  depths  and  touched 
heights  of  harmony  forever  beyond  the 
reach  of  the  modish  Miss  Dix,  but  she  was 


Rose  o  the  River 

out  of  her  element  and  suffered  accord 
ingly. 

Rose  had  gone  to  walk  with  Claude  one 
evening  when  she  first  arrived.  He  had 
shown  her  the  State  House  and  the  Park 
Street  Church,  and  sat  with  her  on  one  of 
the  benches  in  the  Common  until  nearly 
ten.  She  knew  that  Mrs.  Brooks  had  told 
her  nephew  of  the  broken  engagement, 
but  he  made  no  reference  to  the  matter, 
save  to  congratulate  her  that  she  was 
rid  of  a  man  who  was  so  clumsy,  so  dull 
and  behind  the  times,  as  Stephen  Water 
man,  saying  that  he  had  always  marveled 
she  could  engage  herself  to  anybody  who 
could  insult  her  by  offering  her  a  turquoise 
ring. 

Claude  was  very  interesting  that  even 
ing,  Rose  thought,  but  rather  gloomy  and 
unlike  his  former  self.  He  referred  to  his 
grave  responsibilities,  to  the  frail  health  of 
Maude  Arthurlena,  and  to  the  vicissitudes 
of  business.  He  vaguely  intimated  that  his 


Rose  sees  the  World 

daily  life  in  the  store  was  not  ^so  pleasant 
as  it  had  been  formerly;  that  there  were 
"  those  "  (he  would  speak  no  more  plainly) 
who  embarrassed  him  with  undesired  at 
tentions,  "  those  "  who,  without  the  smallest 
shadow  of  right,  vexed  him  with  petty 
jealousies. 

Rose  dared  not  ask  questions  on  so  deli 
cate  a  topic,  but  she  remembered  in  a  flash 
Miss  Dix's  heavy  eyebrows,  snapping  eyes, 
and  high  color.  Claude  seemed  very  happy 
that  Rose  had  come  to  Boston,  though  he 
was  surprised,  knowing  what  a  trial  his 
aunt  must  be,  now  that  she  was  so  helpless. 
It  was  unfortunate,  also,  that  Rose  could 
not  go  on  excursions  without  leaving  his 
aunt  alone,  or  he  should  have  been  glad  to 
offer  his  escort.  He  pressed  her  hand  when 
he  left  her  at  her  door,  telling  her  she  could 
never  realize  what  a  comfort  her  friend 
ship  was  to  him ;  could  never  imagine  how 
thankful  he  was  that  she  had  courageously 
freed  herself  from  ties  that  in  time  would 


Rose  o'  the  River 

have  made  her  wretched.  His  heart  was 
full,  he  said,  of  feelings  he  dared  not  utter; 
but  in  the  near  future,  when  certain  clouds 
had  rolled  by,  he  would  unlock  its  trea 
sures,  and  then  —  but  no  more  to-night : 
he  could  not  trust  himself. 

Rose  felt  as  if  she  were  assuming  one  of 
the  characters  in  a  mysterious  romance, 
such  as  unfolded  itself  only  in  books  or  in 
Boston  ;  but,  thrilling  as  it  was,  it  was  nev 
ertheless  extremely  unsatisfactory. 

Convinced  that  Claude  Merrill  was  pas 
sionately  in  love  with  her,  one  of  her 
reasons  for  coming  to  Boston  had  been  to 
fall  more  deeply  in  love  with  him,  and  thus 
heal  some,  at  least,  of  the  wounds  she  had 
inflicted.  It  may  have  been  a  foolish  idea, 
but  after  three  weeks  it  seemed  still  worse, 
—  a  useless  one ;  for  after  several  inter 
views  she  felt  herself  drifting  farther  and 
farther  from  Claude ;  and  if  he  felt  any 
burning  ambition  to  make  her  his  own,  he 
certainly  concealed  it  with  admirable  art 


Rose  sees  the  World 

Given  up,  with  the  most  offensive  mag 
nanimity,  by  Stephen,  and  not  greatly 
desired  by  Claude,  —  that  seemed  the  pre 
sent  status  of  proud  Rose  Wiley  of  the 
Brier  Neighborhood. 

It  was  June,  she  remembered,  as  she 
leaned  out  of  the  open  window ;  at  least  it 
was  June  in  Edgewood,  and  she  supposed 
for  convenience's  sake  they  called  it  June 
in  Boston.  Not  that  it  mattered  much  what 
the  poor  city  prisoners  called  it.  How 
beautiful  the  river  would  be  at  home,  with 
the  trees  along  the  banks  in  full  leaf!  How 
she  hungered  and  thirsted  for  the  river,  — 
to  see  it  sparkle  in  the  sunlight ;  to  watch 
the  moonglade  stretching  from  one  bank 
to  the  other;  to  hear  the  soft  lap  of  the 
water  on  the  shore,  and  the  distant  mur 
mur  of  the  falls  at  the  bridge  !  And  the 
Brier  Neighborhood  would  be  at  its  love 
liest,  for  the  wild  roses  were  in  blossom  by 
now.  And  the  little  house !  How  sweet  it 
must  look  under  the  shade  of  the  elms, 
C'33] 


Rose  o  the  River 

with  the  Saco  rippling  at  the  back !   Was 
poor    Rufus    still    lying    in    a    darkened 
room,  and  was   Stephen  nursing  him,- 
disappointed   Stephen,  —  dear,    noble   old 
Stephen  ? 


Gold  and  Pinchbeck 


JUST  then  Mrs.  Brooks  groaned  in  the 
next  room  and  called  Rose,  who  went  in 
to  minister  to  her  real  needs,  or  to  condole 
with  her  fancied  ones,  whichever  course  of 
action  appeared  to  be  the  more  agreeable 
at  the  moment. 

Mrs.  Brooks  desired  conversation,  it 
seemed,  or  at  least  she  desired  an  audience 
for  a  monologue,  for  she  recognized  no  anti- 
phonal  obligations  on  the  part  of  her  listen 
ers.  The  doctors  were  not  doing  her  a  speck 
of  good,  and  she  was  just  squandering 
money  in  a  miserable  boarding-house,  when 
she  might  be  enjoying  poor  health  in  her 
own  home  ;  and  she  did  n't  believe  her  hens 
were  receiving  proper  care,  and  she  had 
forgotten  to  pull  down  the  shades  in  the 
[135] 


Rose  o  the  River 

spare  room,  and  the  sun  would  fade  the 
carpet  out  all  white  before  she  got  back, 
and  she  did  n't  believe  Dr.  Smith's  mag- 
netism  was  any  more  use  than  a  cat's  foot, 
nor  Dr.  Robinson's  electricity  any  better 
than  a  bumblebee's  buzz,  and  she  had  a 
great  mind  to  go  home  and  try  Dr.  Lord 
from  Bonnie  Eagle ;  and  there  was  a  let 
ter  for  Rose  on  the  bureau,  which  had 
come  before  supper,  but  the  shiftless,  lazy, 
worthless  landlady  had  forgotten  to  send  it 
up  till  just  now. 

The  letter  was  from  Mite  Shapley,  but 
Rose  could  read  only  half  of  it  to  Mrs. 
Brooks,  —  little  beside  the  news  that  the 
Waterman  barn,  the  finest  barn  in  the 
whole  township,  had  been  struck  by  light 
ning  and  burned  to  the  ground.  Stephen 
was  away  at  the  time,  having  taken  Rufus 
to  Portland,  where  an  operation  on  his 
eyes  would  shortly  be  performed  at  the 
hospital,  and  one  of  the  neighbors  was 
sleeping  at  the  River  Farm  and  taking 
[136] 


Gold  and  Pinchbeck 

care  of  the  cattle ;  still  the  house  might  not 
have  been  saved  but  for  one  of  Alcestis 
Crambry's  sudden  bursts  of  common  sense, 
which  occurred  now  quite  regularly.  He 
succeeded  not  only  in  getting  the  horses 
out  of  the  stalls,  but  gave  the  alarm  so 
promptly  that  the  whole  neighborhood  was 
soon  on  the  scene  of  action.  Stephen  was 
the  only  man,  Mite  reminded  Rose,  who  ever 
had  any  patience  with,  or  took  any  pains 
to  teach,  Alcestis,  but  he  never  could  have 
expected  to  be  rewarded  in  this  practical 
way.  The  barn  was  only  partly  insured; 
and  when  she  had  met  Stephen  at  the 
station  next  day,  and  condoled  with  him 
on  his  loss,  he  had  said :  "  Oh,  well,  Mite, 
a  little  more  or  less  does  n't  make  much 
difference  just  now." 

"  The  rest  would  n't  interest  you,  Mrs. 
Brooks,"  said  Rose,  precipitately  preparing 
to  leave  the  room. 

"  Something  about  Claude,  I  suppose," 
ventured  that  astute  lady.    "  I  think  Mite 
C'37]  ' 


Rose  o  the  River 

kind  of  fancied  him.  I  don't  believe  he 
ever  gave  her  any  real  encouragement; 
but  he  'd  make  love  to  a  pump,  Claude 
Merrill  would,  and  so  would  his  father 
before  him.  How  my  sister  Abby  made 
out  to  land  him  we  never  knew,  for  they 
said  he  'd  proposed  to  every  woman  in 
the  town  of  Bingham,  not  excepting  the 
wooden  Indian  girl  in  front  of  the  cigar- 
store,  and  not  one  of  'em  but  our  Abby 
ever  got  a  chance  to  name  the  day.  Abby 
was  as  set  as  the  everlastin'  hills,  and  if 
she  'd  made  up  her  mind  to  have  a  man  he 
could  n't  wriggle  awa^  from  her  nohow  in 
the  world.  It  beats  all  how  girls  do  run 
after  these  slick-haired,  sweet-tongued,  Miss 
Nancy  kind  o'  fellers,  that  ain't  but  little 
good  as  beaux  an'  worth  less  than  nothing 
as  husbands." 

Rose  scarcely  noticed  what  Mrs.  Brooks 
said,  she  was  too  anxious  to  read  the  rest 
of  Mite  Shapley's  letter  in  the  quiet  of  her 
own  room. 


Gold  and  Pinchbeck 

"  Stephen  looks  thin  and  pale  [so  it  ran 
on],  but  he  does  not  allow  anybody  to  sym 
pathize  with  him.  I  think  you  ought  to 
know  something  that  I  haven't  told  you 
before  for  fear  of  hurting  your  feelings ;  but 
if  I  were  in  your  place  I  Jd  like  to  hear 
everything,  and  then  you  '11  know  how  to 
act  when  you  come  home.  Just  after  you 
left,  Stephen  plowed  up  all  the  land  in  front 
of  your  new  house,  —  every  inch  of  it,  all 
up  and  down  the  road,  between  the  fence 
and  the  front  door-step,  —  and  then  he 
planted  corn  where  you  were  going  to  have 
your  flower-beds. 

"  He  has  closed  all  the  blinds  and  hung 
a  '  To  Let '  sign  on  the  large  elm  at  the 
gate.  Stephen  never  was  spiteful  in  his  life, 
but  this  looks  a  little  like  spite.  Perhaps  he 
only  wanted  to  save  his  self-respect  and  let 
people  know  that  everything  between  you 
was  over  forever.  Perhaps  he  thought  it 
would  stop  talk  once  and  for  all.  But  you 
won't  mind,  you  lucky  girl,  staying  nearly 


Rose  o*  the  River 

three  months  in  Boston !  [So  Almira 
purled  on  in  violet  ink,  with  shaded  let 
ters.]  How  I  wish  it  had  come  my  way, 
though  I  'm  not  good  at  rubbing  rheumatic 
patients,  even  when  they  are  his  aunt.  Is 
he  as  devoted  as  ever  ?  And  when  will  it 
be  ?  How  do  you  like  the  theatre  ?  Mother 
thinks  you  won't  attend ;  but,  by  what  he 
used  to  say,  I  am  sure  church  members  in 
Boston  always  go  to  amusements. 
"  Your  loving  friend, 

"ALMIRA  SHAPLEY. 

•> 

"  P.S.  They  say  Rufus's  doctor's  bills  here, 
and  the  operation  and  hospital  expenses  in 
Portland,  will  mount  up  to  five  hundred 
dollars.  Of  course  Stephen  will  be  dread 
fully  hampered  by  the  loss  of  his  barn,  and 
maybe  he  wants  to  let  your  house  that  was 
to  be,  because  he  really  needs  money.  In 
that  case  the  dooryard  won't  be  very  at 
tractive  to  tenants,  with  corn  planted  right 
up  to  the  steps  and  no  path  left !  It  's  two 
feet  tall  now,  and  by  August  (just  when 


Gold  and  Pinchbeck 

you  were  intending  to  move  in)  it  will  hide 
the  front  windows.  Not  that  you  '11  care, 
with  a  diamond  on  your  engagement 
finger ! " 

The  letter  was  more  than  flesh  and  blood 
could  stand,  and  Rose  flung  herself  on  her 
bed  to  think  and  regret  and  repent,  and,  if 
possible,  to  sob  herself  to  sleep. 

She  knew  now  that  she  had  never  ad 
mired  and  respected  Stephen  so  much  as 
at  the  moment  when,  under  the  reproach 
of  his  eyes,  she  had  given  him  back  his 
ring.  When  she  left  Edgewood  and  parted 
with  him  forever  she  had  really  loved  him 
better  than  when  she  had  promised  to 
marry  him. 

Claude  Merrill,  on  his  native  Boston 
heath,  did  not  appear  the  romantic,  inspir 
ing  figure  he  had  once  been  in  her  eyes. 
A  week  ago  she  distrusted  him ;  to-night 
she  despised  him. 

What  had  happened  to  Rose  was  the 
[HI] 


Rose  <?  the  River 

dilation  of  her  vision.  She  saw  things  under 
a  wider  sky  and  in  a  clearer  light.  Above 
all,  her  heart  was  wrung  with  pity  for 
Stephen — Stephen,  with  no  comforting 
woman's  hand  to  help  him  in  his  sore 
trouble  ;  Stephen,  bearing  his  losses  alone, 
his  burdens  and  anxieties  alone,  his  nurs 
ing  and  daily  work  alone.  Oh,  how  she 
felt  herself  needed  !  Needed  !  that  was  the 
magic  word  that  unlocked  her  better  na 
ture.  "  Darkness  is  the  time  for  making 
roots  and  establishing  plants,  whether  of 
the  soil  or  of  the  soul,"  and  all  at  once 
Rose  had  become  a  woman :  a  little  one, 
perhaps,  but  a  whole  woman  —  and  a  bit  of 
an  angel,  too,  with  healing  in  her  wings. 
When  and  how  had  this  metamorphosis 
come  about  ?  Last  summer  the  fragile 
brier-rose  had  hung  over  the  river  and 
looked  at  its  pretty  reflection  in  the  placid 
surface  of  the  water.  Its  few  buds  and 
blossoms  were  so  lovely,  it  sighed  for  no 
thing  more.  The  changes  in  the  plant  had 
[H*] 


Gold  and  Pinchbeck 

been  wrought  secretly  and  silently.  In 
some  mysterious  way,  as  common  to  soul 
as  to  plant  life,  the  roots  had  gathered  in 
more  nourishment  from  the  earth,  they  had 
stored  up  strength  and  force,  and  ail  at 
once  there  was  a  marvelous  fructifying  of 
the  plant,  hardiness  of  stalk,  new  shoots 
everywhere,  vigorous  leafage,  and  a  shower 
of  blossoms. 

But  everything  was  awry  :  Boston  was  a 
failure;  Claude  was  a  weakling  and  a  flirt; 
her  turquoise  ring  was  lying  on  the  river- 
bank  ;  Stephen  did  not  love  her  any  longer ; 
her  flower-beds  were  plowed  up  arid  planted 
in  corn ;  and  the  cottage  that  Stephen  had 
built  and  she  had  furnished,  that  beloved 
cottage,  was  to  let. 

She  was  in  Boston  ;  but  what  did  that 
amount  to,  after  all  ?  What  was  the  State 
House  to  a  bleeding  heart,  or  the  Old 
South  Church  to  a  pride  wounded  like 
hers  ? 

At  last  she  fell  asleep,  but  it  was  only 
[H3] 


Rose  o   the  River 

by  stopping  her  ears  to  the  noises  of  the 
city  streets  and  making  herself  imagine  the 
sound  of  the  river  rippling  under  her  bed 
room  windows  at  home.  The  back  yards 
of  Boston  faded,  and  in  their  place  came 
the  banks  of  the  Saco,  strewn  with  pine- 
needles,  fragrant  with  wild  flowers.  Then 
there  was  the  bit  of  sunny  beach,  where 
Stephen  moored  his  boat.  She  could  hear 
the  sound  of  his  paddle.  Boston  lovers 
came  a-courting  in  the  horse-cars,  but  hers 
had  floated  down  stream  to  her  just  at 
dusk  in  a  birch-bark  canoe,  or  sometimes, 
in  the  moonlight,  on  a  couple  of  logs  rafted 
together. 

But  it  was  all  over  now,  and  she  could 
see  only  Stephen's  stern  face  as  he  flung 
the  despised  turquoise  ring  down  the  river- 
bank. 


A  Country  Chevalier 


IT  was  early  in  August  when  Mrs.  Weal 
thy  Brooks  announced  her  speedy  re 
turn  from  Boston  to  Edgewood. 

"  It 's  jest  as  well  Rose  is  comin'  back," 
said  Mr.  Wiley  to  his  wife.  "  I  never  fa 
vored  her  goin'  to  Boston,  where  that  rosy- 
posy  Claude  feller  is.  When  he  was  down 
here  he  was  kep'  kind  o'  tied  up  in  a  box- 
stall,  but  there  he's  caperin'  loose  round 
the  pastur'." 

"  I  should  think  Rose  would  be  ashamed 
to  come  back,  after  the  way  she 's  carried  on," 
remarked  Mrs.  Wiley,  "  but  if  she  needed 
punishment  I  guess  she 's  got  it  bein'  com- 
p'ny-keeper  to  Wealthy  Ann  Brooks.  Be- 
in'  a  church  member  in  good  an'  reg'lar 
standin',  I  s'pose  Wealthy  Ann  '11  go  to 
[H5] 


Rose  o'  the  River 

heaven,  but  I  can  only  say  that  it  would  be 
a  sight  pleasanter  place  for  a  good  many 
if  she  did  n't." 

"  Rose  has  be'n  foolish  an'  flirty  an' 
wrong-headed,"  allowed  her  grandfather; 
"  but  it  won't  do  no  good  to  treat  her  like  a 
hardened  criminile,  same's  you  did  afore 
she  went  away.  She  ain't  hardly  got  her 
wisdom  teeth  cut,  in  love  affairs  !  She  ain't 
broke  the  laws  of  the  State  o'  Maine,  nor 
any  o'  the  ten  commandments ;  she  ain't 
disgraced  the  family,  an'  there  's  a  chance 
for  her  to  reform,  seein'  as  how  she  ain't 
twenty  year  old  yet.  I  was  tumble  wild 
an'  hot-headed  myself  afore  you  ketched 
me  an'  tamed  me  down." 

"  You  ain't  so  tame  now  as  I  wish  you 
was,"  Mrs.  Wiley  replied  testily. 

"If  you  could  smoke  a  clay  pipe 
't  would  calm  your  nerves,  mother,  an' 
help  you  to  git  some  philosophy  inter 
you  ;  you  need  a  little  philosophy  tumble 
bad." 

[146] 


A  Country  Chevalier 

"  I  need  patience  consid'able  more," 
was  Mrs.  Wiley's  withering  retort. 

"That's  the  way  with  folks,"  said  Old 
Kennebec  reflectively,  as  he  went  on  peace 
fully  puffing.  "  If  you  try  to  indoose  'em 
to  take  an  int'rest  in  a  bran'-new  virtue, 
they  won't  look  at  it ;  but  they  '11  run  down 
a  side  street  an'  buy  half  a  yard  more  o' 
some  turrible  old  shop-worn  trait  o'  char 
acter  that  they  've  kep'  in  stock  all  their 
lives,  an'  that  everybody 's  sick  to  death  of. 
There  was  a  man  in  Card'  ner  "  — 

But  alas !  the  experiences  of  the  Gardi 
ner  man,  though  told  in  the  same  delight 
ful  fashion  that  had  won  Mrs.  Wiley's 
heart  many  years  before,  now  fell  upon  the 
empty  air.  In  these  years  of  Old  Kenne- 
bec's  "  anecdotage,"  his  pipe  was  his  best 
listener  and  his  truest  confidant. 

Mr.  Wiley's  constant  intercessions  with 
his  wife  made  Rose's  home-coming  some 
what  easier,  and  the  sight  of  her  own  room 
and  belongings  soothed  her  troubled  spirit, 

r-47] 


Rose  o  the  River 

but  the  days  went  on,  and  nothing  hap 
pened  to  change  the  situation.  She  had  lost 
a  lover,  that  was  all,  and  there  were  plenty 
more  to  choose  from,  or  there  always  had 
been ;  but  the  only  one  she  wanted  was  the 
one  who  made  no  sign.  She  used  to  think 
that  she  could  twist  Stephen  around  her 
little  finger ;  that  she  had  only  to  beckon  to 
him  and  he  would  follow  her  to  the  ends  of 
the  earth.  Now  fear  had  entered  her  heart. 
She  no  longer  felt  sure,  because  she  no 
longer  felt  worthy,  of  him,  and  feeling  both 
uncertainty  and  unworthiness,  her  lips  were 
sealed  and  she  was  rendered  incapable  of 
making  any  bid  for  forgiveness. 

So  the  little  world  of  Pleasant  River 
went  on,  to  all  outward  seeming,  as  it  had 
ever  gone.  On  one  side  of  the  stream  a 
girl's  heart  was  longing,  and  pining,  and 
sickening,  with  hope  deferred,  and  grow 
ing,  too,  with  such  astonishing  rapidity 
that  the  very  angels  marveled !  And  on 
the  other,  a  man's  whole  vision  of  life  and 
[,48] 


A  Country  Chevalier 

duty  was  widening  and  deepening  under 
the  fructifying  influence  of  his  sorrow. 

The  corn  waved  high  and  green  in 
front  of  the  vacant  riverside  cottage,  but 
Stephen  sent  no  word  or  message  to  Rose. 
He  had  seen  her  once,  but  only  from  a 
distance.  She  seemed  paler  and  thinner, 
he  thought,  —  the  result,  probably,  of  her 
metropolitan  gayeties.  He  heard  no  rumor 
of  any  engagement,  and  he  wondered  if 
it  were  possible  that  her  love  for  Claude 
Merrill  had  not,  after  all,  been  returned  in 
kind.  This  seemed  a  wild  impossibility. 
His  mind  refused  to  entertain  the  suppo 
sition  that  any  man  on  earth  could  resist 
falling  in  love  with  Rose,  or,  having  fallen 
in,  that  he  could  ever  contrive  to  climb  out. 
So  he  worked  on  at  his  farm  harder  than 
ever,  and  grew  soberer  and  more  careworn 
daily.  Rufus  had  never  seemed  so  near 
and  dear  to  him  as  in  these  weeks  when  he 
had  lived  under  the  shadow  of  threatened 
blindness.  The  burning  of  the  barn  and  the 
['49] 


Rose  o  the  River 

strain  upon  their  slender  property  brought 
the  brothers  together  shoulder  to  shoulder. 

"  If  you  lose  your  girl,  Steve,"  said  the 
boy,  "  and  I  lose  my  eyesight,  and  we  both 
lose  the  barn,  why,  it  '11  be  us  two  against 
the  world,  for  a  spell !  " 

The  "  To  Let "  sign  on  the  little  house 
was  an  arrant  piece  of  hypocrisy.  Nothing 
but  the  direst  extremity  could  have  caused 
him  to  allow  an  alien  step  on  that  sacred 
threshold.  The  plowing  up  of  the  flower 
beds  and  planting  of  the  corn  had  served 
a  double  purpose.  It  showed  the  too  curi 
ous  public  the  finality  of  his  break  with 
Rose  and  her  absolute  freedom;  it  also 
prevented  them  from  suspecting  that  he 
still  entered  the  place.  His  visits  were  not 
many,  but  he  could  not  bear  to  let  the  dust 
settle  on  the  furniture  that  he  and  Rose 
had  chosen  together;  and  whenever  he 
locked  the  door  and  went  back  to  the 
River  Farm,  he  thought  of  a  verse  in  the 
Bible :  "  Therefore  the  Lord  God  sent  him 
['So] 


A  Country  Chevalier 

forth  from  the  Garden  of  Eden,  to  till  the 
ground  from  whence  he  was  taken." 

It  was  now  Friday  of  the  last  week  in 
August. 

The  river  was  full  of  logs,  thousands 
upon  thousands  of  them  covering  the  sur 
face  of  the  water  from  the  bridge  almost 
up  to  the  Brier  Neighborhood. 

The  Edgewood  drive  was  late,  owing  to 
a  long  drought  and  low  water ;  but  it  was 
to  begin  on  the  following  Monday,  and 
Lije  Dennett  and  his  under  boss  were  look 
ing  over  the  situation  and  planning  the 
campaign.  As  they  leaned  over  the  bridge- 
rail  they  saw  Mr.  Wiley  driving  down  the 
river  road.  When  he  caught  sight  of  them 
he  hitched  the  old  white  horse  at  the  cor 
ner  and  walked  toward  them,  filling  his  pipe 
the  while  in  his  usual  leisurely  manner. 

"  We  're  not  busy  this  forenoon,"  said 
Lije  Dennett.  "  S'pose  we  stand  right  here 
and  let  Old  Kennebec  have  his  say  out  for 


Rose  o  the  River 

once.  We've  never  heard  the  end  of  one 
of  his  stories,  an'  he's  be'n  talkin'  for  twenty 
years." 

"  All  right,"  rejoined  his  companion,  with 
a  broad  grin  at  the  idea.  "  I  'm  willin',  if 
you  are  ;  but  who 's  goin'  to  tell  our  fam'lies 
the  reason  we've  deserted  'em  ?  I  bate  yer 
we  sha'n't  budge  till  the  crack  o'  doom.  The 
road  commissioner  '11  come  along  once  a 
year  and  mend  the  bridge  under  our  feet, 
but  Old  Kennebec  '11  talk  straight  on  till 
the  day  o'  jedgment." 

Mr.  Wiley  had  one  of  the  most  enjoyable 
mornings  of  his  life,  and  felt  that  after  half 
a  century  of  neglect  his  powers  were  at  last 
appreciated  by  his  fellow-citizens. 

He  proposed  numerous  strategic  move 
ments  to  be  made  upon  the  logs,  whereby 
they  would  move  more  swiftly  than  usual 
He  described  several  successful  drives  on 
the  Kennebec,  when  the  logs  had  melted 
down  the  river  almost  by  magic,  owing  to 
his  generalship ;  and  he  paid  a  tribute,  in 


A  Country  Chevalier 

passing,  to  the  docility  of  the  boss,  who  on 
that  occasion  had  never  moved  a  single 
log  without  asking  his  advice. 

From  this  topic  he  proceeded  genially  to 
narrate  the  life-histories  of  the  boss,  the 
under  boss,  and  several  Indians  belonging 
to  the  crew,  —  histories  in  which  he  him 
self  played  a  gallant  and  conspicuous  part. 
The  conversation  then  drifted  naturally  to 
the  exploits  of  river-drivers  in  general,  and 
Mr.  Wiley  narrated  the  sorts  of  feats  in 
log-riding,  pickpole-throwing,  and  the  shoot 
ing  of  rapids  that  he  had  done  in  his  youth. 
These  stories  were  such  as  had  seldom 
been  heard  by  the  ear  of  man  ;  and,  as  they 
passed  into  circulation  instantaneously,  we 
are  probably  enjoying  some  of  them  to  this 
day. 

They  were  still  being  told  when  a  Cram- 
bry  child  appeared  on  the  bridge,  bearing 
a  note  for  the  old  man. 

Upon  reading  it  he  moved  off  rapidly 
in  the  direction  of  the  store,  ejaculating: 


Rose  o  the  River 

"  Bless  my  soul !  I  clean  forgot  that  sale- 
ratus,  and  mother  's  settin'  at  the  kitchen 
table  with  the  bowl  in  her  lap,  waitin'  for 
it !  Got  so  int'rested  in  your  list'nin'  I  never 
thought  o'  the  time." 

The  connubial  discussion  that  followed 
this  breach  of  discipline  began  on  the  ar 
rival  of  the  saleratus,  and  lasted  through 
supper ;  and  Rose  went  to  bed  almost  im 
mediately  afterward  for  very  dullness  and 
apathy.  Her  life  stretched  out  before  her 
in  the  most  aimless  and  monotonous  fash 
ion.  She  saw  nothing  but  heartache  in  the 
future;  and  that  she  richly  deserved  it 
made  it  none  the  easier  to  bear. 

Feeling  feverish  and  sleepless,  she  slipped 
on  her  gray  Shaker  cloak  and  stole  quietly 
downstairs  for  a  breath  of  air.  Her  grand 
father  and  grandmother  were  talking  on 
the  piazza,  and  good  humor  seemed  to  have 
been  restored. 

"  I  was  over  to  the  tavern  to-night,"  she 
heard  him  say,  as  she  sat  down  at  a  little 


A  Country  Chevalier 

distance.  "  I  was  over  to  the  tavern  to-night, 
an'  a  feller  from  Gorham  got  to  talkin'  an* 
braggin'  'bout  what  a  stock  o'  goods  they 
kep'  in  the  store  over  there.  '  An','  says  I, 
'I  bate  ye  dollars  to  doughnuts  that  there 
hain't  a  darn  thing  ye  can  ask  for  at  Bill 
Pike's  store  at  Pleasant  River  that  he  can't 
go  down  cellar,  or  up  attic,  or  out  in  the 
barn  chamber  an'  git  for  ye.'  Well,  sir,  he 
took  me  up,  an'  I  borrered  the  money  of 
Joe  Dennett,  who  held  the, stakes,  an'  we 
went  right  over  to  Bill  Pike's  with  all  the 
boys  follerin'  on  behind.  An'  the  Gorham 
man  never  let  on  what  he  was  goin'  to  ask 
for  till  the  hull  crowd  of  us  got  inside  the 
store.  Then  says  he,  as  p'lite  as  a  basket 
o'  chips, '  Mr.  Pike,  I  'd  like  to  buy  a  pulpit 
if  you  can  oblige  me  with  one.' 

"  Bill  scratched  his  head  an'  I  held  my 
breath.  Then  says  he,  '  Pears  to  me  I  'd 
ought  to  hev  a  pulpit  or  two,  if  I  can  jest 
remember  where  I  keep  'em.  I  don't  never 
cal'late  to  be  out  o'  pulpits,  but  I  'm  so 


Rose  o  the  River 

plagued  for  room  I  can't  keep  'em  in  here 
with  the  groc'ries.  Jim  (that's  his  new 
store  boy),  you  jest  take  a  lantern  an'  run 
out  in  the  far  corner  o'  the  shed,  at  the  end 
o'  the  hickory  woodpile,  an'  see  how  many 
pulpits  we  Ve  got  in  stock ! '  Well,  Jim  run 
out,  an'  when  he  come  back  he  says, 
1  We  Ve  got  two,  Mr.  Pike.  Shall  I  bring 
one  of  'em  in  ? ' 

"  At  that  the  boys  all  bust  out  laughin' 
an'  hollerin'  an'  tauntin'  the  Gorham  man, 
an'  he  paid  up  with  a  good  will,  I  tell 
ye!" 

"  I  don't  approve  of  bettin',"  said  Mrs. 
Wiley  grimly,  "  but  I  '11  try  to  sanctify  the 
money  by  usin'  it  for  a  new  wash-boiler." 

"  The  fact  is,"  explained  old  Kennebec, 
somewhat  confused,  "  that  the  boys  made 
me  spend  every  cent  of  it  then  an'  there." 

Rose  heard  her  grandmother's  caustic 
reply,  and  then  paid  no  further  attention 
until  her  keen  ear  caught  the  sound  of 
Stephen's  name.  It  was  a  part  of  her  un- 


A  Country  Chevalier 

happiness  that  since  her  broken  engage 
ment  no  one  would  ever  allude  to  him, 
and  she  longed  to  hear  him  mentioned,  so 
that  perchance  she  could  get  some  inkling 
of  his  movements. 

"  I  met  Stephen  to-night  for  the  first 
time  in  a  week,"  said  Mr.  Wiley.  "  He 
kind  o'  keeps  out  o'  my  way  lately.  He  's 
goin'  to  drive  his  span  into  Portland  to 
morrow  mornin'  and  bring  Rufus  home 
from  the  hospital  Sunday  afternoon.  The 
doctors  think  they  Ve  made  a  success  of 
their  job,  but  Rufus  has  got  to  be  bandaged 
up  a  spell  longer.  Stephen  is  goin'  to  join 
the  drive  Monday  mornin'  at  the  bridge 
here,  so  I  '11  get  the  latest  news  o'  the  boy. 
Land !  I  '11  be  tumble  glad  if  he  gets  out 
with  his  eyesight,  if  it 's  only  for  Steve's 
sake.  He 's  a  turrible  good  fellow,  Steve 
is  !  He  said  something  to-night  that  made 
me  set  more  store  by  him  than  ever.  I 
told  you  I  hed  n't  heard  an  unkind  word 
ag'in'  Rose  sence  she  come  home  from 
[-57] 


Rose  o  the  River 

Boston,  an'  no  more  I  hev  till  this  evenin'. 
There  was  two  or  three  fellers  talkin'  in 
the  post-office,  an'  they  didn't  suspicion  I 
was  settin'  on  the  steps  outside  the  screen 
door.  That  Jim  Jenkins,  that  Rose  so  ever- 
lastin'ly  snubbed  at  the  tavern  dance,  spoke 
up,  an'  says  he :  '  This  time  last  year  Rose 
Wiley  could  'a'  hed  the  choice  of  any  man 
on  the  river,  an'  now  I  bet  ye  she  can't  get 
nary  one.' 

"  Steve  was  there,  jest  goin'  out  the  door, 
with  some  bags  o'  coffee  an'  sugar  under 
his  arm. 

"  *  I  guess  you  're  mistaken  about  that,' 
he  says,  speakin'  up  jest  like  lightnin' ;  *  so 
long  as  Stephen  Waterman  's  alive,  Rose 
Wiley  can  have  him,  for  one;  and  that 
everybody 's  welcome  to  know.' 

"  He  spoke  right  out,  loud  an'  plain,  jest 
as  if  he  was  readin'  the  Declaration  of 
Independence.  I  expected  the  boys  would 
everlastin'ly  poke  fun  at  him,  but  they 
never  said  a  word.  I  guess  his  eyes  flashed, 


A  Country  Chevalier 

for  he  come  out  the  screen  door,  slammin' 
it  after  him,  and  stalked  by  me  as  if  he 
was  too  worked  up  to  notice  anything  or 
anybody.  I  did  n't  foller  him,  for  his  long 
legs  git  over  the  ground  too  fast  for  me, 
but  thinks  I,  '  Mebbe  I  '11  hev  some  use  for 
my  lemonade-set  after  all.' " 

"  I  hope  to  the  land  you  will,"  responded 
Mrs.  Wiley,  "  for  I  'm  about  sick  o'  movin' 
it  round  when  I  sweep  under  my  bed.  And 
I  shall  be  glad  if  Rose  an'  Stephen  do 
make  it  up,  for  Wealthy  Ann  Brooks's  gos 
sip  is  too  much  for  a  Christian  woman  to 
stand." 


WHERE  was  the  pale  Rose,  the 
faded  Rose,  that  crept  noiselessly 
down  from  her  room,  wanting  neither  to 
speak  nor  to  be  spoken  to  ?  Nobody  ever 
knew.  She  vanished  forever,  and  in  her 
place  a  thing  of  sparkles  and  dimples 
flashed  up  the  stairway  and  closed  the 
door  softly.  There  was  a  streak  of  moon 
shine  lying  across  the  bare  floor,  and  a 
merry  ghost,  with  dressing-gown  held  pret 
tily  away  from  bare  feet,  danced  a  gay 
fandango  among  the  yellow  moonbeams. 
There  were  breathless  flights  to  the  open 
window,  and  kisses  thrown  in  the  direction 
of  the  River  Farm.  There  were  impressive 
declamations  at  the  looking-glass,  where  a 
radiant  creature  pointed  to  her  reflection 
[,6o] 


House  breaking 

and  whispered,  "  Worthless  little  pig,  he 
loves  you,  after  all !  " 

Then,  when  quiet  joy  had  taken  the 
place  of  mad  delight,  there  was  a  swoop 
down  upon  the  floor,  an  impetuous  hiding 
of  brimming  eyes  in  the  white  counterpane, 
and  a  dozen  impassioned  promises  to  her 
self  and  to  something  higher  than  herself, 
to  be  a  better  girl. 

The  mood  lasted,  and  deepened,  and  still 
Rose  did  not  move.  Her  heart  was  on  its 
knees  before  Stephen's  faithful  love,  his 
chivalry,  his  strength.  Her  troubled  spirit, 
like  a  frail  boat  tossed  about  in  the  rapids, 
seemed  entering  a  quiet  harbor,  where 
there  were  protecting  shores  and  a  still, 
still  evening  star.  Her  sails  were  all  torn 
and  drooping,  but  the  harbor  was  in  sight, 
and  the  poor  little  weather-beaten  craft 
could  rest  in  peace. 

A  period  of  grave  reflection  now  ensued, 
—  under  the  bedclothes,  where  one  could 
think  better.  Suddenly  an  inspiration  seized 
[161] 


Rose  o*  the  River 

her,  —  an  inspiration  so  original,  so  deli 
cious,  and  above  all  so  humble  and  praise 
worthy,  that  it  brought  her  head  from  her 
pillow,  and  she  sat  bolt  upright,  clapping 
her  hands  like  a  child. 

"  The  very  thing ! "  she  whispered  to 
herself  gleefully.  "  It  will  take  courage, 
but  I  'm  sure  of  my  ground  after  what  he 
said  before  them  all,  and  I  '11  do  it.  Grand 
ma  in  Biddeford  buying  church  carpets, 
Stephen  in  Portland  —  was  ever  such  a 
chance  ? " 

The  same  glowing  Rose  came  down 
stairs,  two  steps  at  a  time,  next  morning, 
bade  her  grandmother  good-by  with  suspi 
cious  pleasure,  and  sent  her  grandfather 
away  on  an  errand  which,  with  attendant 
conversation,  would  consume  half  the  day. 
Then  bundles  after  bundles  and  baskets 
after  baskets  were  packed  into  the  wagon, 
—  behind  the  seat,  beneath  the  seat,  and 
finally  under  the  lap-robe.  She  gave  a 
dramatic  flourish  to  the  whip,  drove  across 
[162] 


Housebreaking 

the  bridge,  went  through  Pleasant  River 
village,  and  up  the  leafy  road  to  the  little 
house,  stared  the  "  To  Let "  sign  scornfully 
in  the  eye,  alighted,  and  ran  like  a  deer 
through  the  aisles  of  waving  corn,  past  the 
kitchen  windows,  to  the  back  door. 

"  If  he  has  kept  the  big  key  in  the  old 
place  under  the  stone,  where  we  both  used 
to  find  it,  then  he  has  n't  forgotten  me  — 
or  anything,"  thought  Rose. 

The  key  was  there,  and  Rose  lifted  it 
with  a  sob  of  gratitude.  It  was  but  five 
minutes'  work  to  carry  all  the  bundles  from 
the  wagon  to  the  back  steps,  and  another 
five  to  lead  old  Tom  across  the  road  into 
the  woods  and  tie  him  to  a  tree  quite  out 
of  the  sight  of  any  passer-by. 

When,  after  running  back,  she  turned 
the  key  in  the  lock,  her  heart  gave  a  leap 
almost  of  terror,  and  she  started  at  the 
sound  of  her  own  footfall.  Through  the 
open  door  the  sunlight  streamed  into  the 
dark  room.  She  flew  to  tables  and  chairs, 


Rose  oy  the  River 

and  gave  a  rapid  sweep  of  the  hand  over 
their  surfaces. 

"  He  has  been  dusting  here, — and  within 
a  few  days,  too,"  she  thought  triumphantly. 

The  kitchen  was  perfection,  as  she  al 
ways  knew  it  would  be,  with  one  door 
opening  to  the  shaded  road  and  the  other 
looking  on  the  river ;  windows,  too,  framing 
the  apple-orchard  and  the  elms.  She  had 
chosen  the  furniture,  but  how  differently 
it  looked  now  that  it  was  actually  in  place ! 
The  tiny  shed  had  piles  of  split  wood,  with 
great  boxes  of  kindlings  and  shavings,  all 
in  readiness  for  the  bride,  who  would  do 
her  own  cooking.  Who  but  Stephen  would 
have  made  the  very  wood  ready  for  a 
woman's  home-coming;  and  why  had  he 
done  so  much  in  May,  when  they  were  not 
to  be  married  until  August?  Then  the 
door  of  the  bedroom  was  stealthily  opened, 
and  here  Rose  sat  down  and  cried  for  joy 
and  shame  and  hope  and  fear.  The  very 
flowered  paper  she  had  refused  as  too  ex- 
[164] 


House  breaking 

pensive!  How  lovely  it  looked  with  the 
white  chamber  set!  She  brought  in  her 
simple  wedding  outfit  of  blankets,  bed-linen, 
and  counterpanes,  and  folded  them  softly 
in  the  closet ;  and  then  for  the  rest  of  the 
morning  she  went  from  room  to  room, 
doing  all  that  could, remain  undiscovered, 
even  to  laying  a  fire  in  the  new  kitchen 
stove. 

This  was  the  plan.  Stephen  must  pass 
the  house  on  his  way  from  the  River  Farm 
to  the  bridge,  where  he  was  to  join  the  river- 
drivers  on  Monday  morning.  She  would 
be  out  of  bed  by  the  earliest  peep  of  dawn, 
put  on  Stephen's  favorite  pink  calico,  leave 
a  note  for  her  grandmother,  run  like  a  hare 
down  her  side  of  the  river  and  up  Ste 
phen's,  steal  into  the  house,  open  blinds 
and  windows,  light  the  fire,  and  set  the 
kettle  boiling.  Then  with  a  sharp  knife 
she  would  cut  down  two  rows  of  corn,  and 
thus  make  a  green  pathway  from  the  front 
kitchen  steps  to  the  road.  Next,  the  false 


Rose  o  the  River 

and  insulting  "  To  Let "  sign  would  be 
forcibly  tweaked  from  the  tree  and  thrown 
into  the  grass.  She  would  then  lay  the 
table  in  the  kitchen,  and  make  ready  the 
nicest  breakfast  that  two  people  ever  sat 
down  to.  And  oh,  would  two  people  sit 
down  to  it ;  or  would  one  go  off  in  a  rage 
and  the  other  die  of  grief  and  disappoint 
ment  ? 

Then,  having  done  all,  she  would  wait 
and  palpitate,  and  palpitate  and  wait,  until 
Stephen  came.  Surely  no  property-owner 
in  the  universe  could  drive  along  a  road, 
observe  his  corn  leveled  to  the  earth,  his 
sign  removed,  his  house  open,  and  smoke 
issuing  from  his  chimney,  without  going 
in  to  surprise  the  rogue  and  villain  who 
could  be  guilty  of  such  vandalism. 

And  when  he  came  in  ? 

Oh,  she  had  all  day  Sunday  in  which  to 

forecast,  with  mingled  dread  and  gladness 

and  suspense,  that  all-important,  all-decisive 

first  moment!    All  day  Sunday  to  frame 

[.66] 


Housebreaking 

and  unframe  penitent  speeches.  All  day 
Sunday !  Would  it  ever  be  Monday  ?  If 
so,  what  would  Tuesday  bring  ?  Would  the 
sun  rise  on  happy  Mrs.  Stephen  Waterman 
of  Pleasant  River,  or  on  miserable  Miss 
Rose  Wiley  of  the  Brier  Neighborhood  ? 


LONG  ago,  when  Stephen  was  a  boy  of 
fourteen  or  fifteen,  he  had  gone  with 
his  father  to  a  distant  town  to  spend  the 
night.  After  an  early  breakfast  next  morn 
ing  his  father  had  driven  off  for  a  business 
interview,  and  left  the  boy  to  walk  about 
during  his  absence.  He  wandered  aimlessly 
along  a  quiet  side  street,  and  threw  himself 
down  on  the  grass  outside  a  pretty  garden 
to  amuse  himself  as  best  he  could. 

After  a  few  minutes  he  heard  voices, 
and,  turning,  peeped  through  the  bars  of 
the  gate  in  idle,  boyish  curiosity.  It  was  a 
small  brown  house  ;  the  kitchen  door  was 
open,  and  a  table  spread  with  a  white  cloth 
was  set  in  the  middle  of  the  room.  There 
was  a  cradle  in  a  far  corner,  and  a  man 
[168] 


The  Dream  Room 

was  seated  at  the  table  as  though  he  might 
be  waiting  for  his  breakfast. 

There  is  a  kind  of  sentiment  about  the 
kitchen  in  New  England,  a  kind  of  senti 
ment  not  provoked  by  other  rooms.  Here 
the  farmer  drops  in  to  spend  a  few  minutes 
when  he  comes  back  from  the  barn  or  field 
on  an  errand.  Here,  in  the  great,  clean, 
sweet,  comfortable  place,  the  busy  house 
wife  lives,  sometimes  rocking  the  cradle, 
sometimes  opening  and  shutting  the  oven 
door,  sometimes  stirring  the  pot,  darning 
stockings,  paring  vegetables,  or  mixing 
goodies  in  a  yellow  bowl.  The  children  sit 
on  the  steps,  stringing  beans,  shelling  peas, 
or  hulling  berries;  the  cat  sleeps  on  the 
floor  near  the  wood-box ;  and  the  visitor 
feels  exiled  if  he  stays  in  sitting-room  or 
parlor,  for  here,  where  the  mother  is  always 
busy,  is  the  heart  of  the  farm-house. 

There  was  an  open   back  door  to  this 
kitchen,  a  door  framed  in  morning-glories, 
and  the  woman  (or  was  she  only  girl  ?) 
[:69] 


Rose  o  the  River 

standing  at  the  stove  was  pretty,  —  oh,  so 
pretty  in  Stephen's  eyes  !  His  boyish  heart 
went  out  to  her  on  the  instant.  She  poured 
a  cup  of  coffee  and  walked  with  it  to  the 
table ;  then  an  unexpected,  interesting  thing 
happened  —  something  the  boy  ought  not 
to  have  seen,  and  never  forgot.  The  man, 
putting  out  his  hand  to  take  the  cup,  looked 
up  at  the  pretty  woman  with  a  smile,  and 
she  stooped  and  kissed  him. 

Stephen  was  fifteen.  As  he  looked,  on 
the  instant  he  became  a  man,  with  a  man's 
hopes,  desires,  ambitions.  He  looked  ea 
gerly,  hungrily,  and  the  scene  burned  itself 
on  the  sensitive  plate  of  his  young  heart,  so 
that,  as  he  grew  older,  he  could  take  the 
picture  out  in  the  dark,  from  time  to  time, 
and  look  at  it  again.  When  he  first  met 
Rose,  he  did  not  know  precisely  what  she 
was  to  mean  to  him ;  but  before  long,  when 
he  closed  his  eyes  and  the  old  familiar  pic 
ture  swam  into  his  field  of  vision,  behold, 
by  some  spiritual  chemistry,  the  pretty 
[170] 


The  Dream  Room 

woman's  face  had  given  place  to  that  of 
Rose! 

All  such  teasing  visions  had  been  sternly 
banished  during  this  sorrowful  summer, 
and  it  was  a  thoughtful,  sober  Stephen  who 
drove  along  the  road  on  this  mellow  Au 
gust  morning.  The  dust  was  deep;  the 
goldenrod  waved  its  imperial  plumes,  mak 
ing  the  humble  waysides  gorgeous ;  the 
river  chattered  and  sparkled  till  it  met 
the  logs  at  the  Brier  Neighorhood,  and 
then,  lapsing  into  silence,  flowed  steadily 
under  them  till  it  found  a  vent  for  its 
spirits  in  the  dashing  and  splashing  of  the 
falls. 

Haying  was  over;  logging  was  to  begin 
that  day ;  then  harvesting ;  then  wood-cut 
ting;  then  eternal  successions  of  plowing, 
sowing,  reaping,  haying,  logging,  harvest 
ing,  and  so  on,  to  the  endless  end  of  his 
days.  Here  and  there  a  red  or  a  yellow 
branch,  painted  only  yesterday,  caught  his 
eye  and  made  him  shiver.  He  was  not 


Rose  o   the  River 

ready  for  winter ;  his  heart  still  craved  the 
summer  it  had  missed. 

Hello!  What  was  that?  Corn-stalks 
prone  on  the  earth  ?  Sign  torn  down  and 
lying  flat  in  the  grass  ?  Blinds  open,  fire 
in  the  chimney? 

He  leaped  from  the  wagon,  and,  flinging 
the  reins  to  Alcestis  Crambry,  said,  "  Stay 
right  here  out  of  sight,  and  don't  you  move 
till  I  call  you ! "  and  striding  up  the  green 
pathway,  flung  open  the  kitchen  door. 

A  forest  of  corn  waving  in  the  doorway 
at  the  back,  morning-glories  clambering 
round  and  round  the  window-frames,  table 
with  shining  white  cloth,  kettle  humming 
and  steaming,  something  bubbling  in  a 
pan  on  the  stove,  fire  throwing  out  sweet 
little  gleams  of  welcome  through  the  open 
damper.  All  this  was  taken  in  with  one  in 
credulous,  rapturous  twinkle  of  an  eye ;  but 
something  else,  too :  Rose  of  all  roses,  Rose 
of  the  river,  Rose  of  the  world,  standing  be 
hind  a  chair,  her  hand  pressed  against  her 


'The  Dream  Room 

heart,  her  lips  parted,  her  breath  coming  and 
going !  She  was  glowing  like  a  jewel,  glow 
ing  with  the  extraordinary  brilliancy  that 
emotion  gives  to  some  women.  She  used 
to  be  happy  in  a  gay,  sparkling  way,  like 
the  shallow  part  of  the  stream  as  it  chat 
ters  over  white  pebbles  and  bright  sands. 
Now  it  was  a  broad,  steady,  full  happiness 
like  the  deeps  of  the  river  under  the  sun. 

"  Don't  speak,  Stephen,  till  you  hear 
what  I  have  to  say.  It  takes  a  good  deal  of 
courage  for  a  girl  to  do  as  I  am  doing;  but 
I  want  to  show  how  sorry  I  am,  and  it's 
the  only  way."  She  was  trembling,  and  the 
words  came  faster  and  faster.  "  I  Ve  been 
very  wrong  and  foolish,  and  made  you  very 
unhappy,  but  I  have  n't  done  what  you 
would  have  hated  most.  I  have  n't  been 
engaged  to  Claude  Merrill ;  he  has  n't  so 
much  as  asked  me.  I  am  here  to  beg  you 
to  forgive  me,  to  eat  breakfast  with  me,  to 
drive  me  to  the  minister's  and  marry  me 
quickly,  quickly,  before  anything  happens  to 


Rose  o  the  River 

prevent  us,  and  then  to  bring  me  home  here 
to  live  all  the  days  of  my  life.  Oh,  Stephen 
dear,  honestly,  honestly,  you  have  n't  lost 
anything  in  all  this  long,  miserable  summer. 
I  Ve  suffered,  too,  and  I  'm  better  worth  lov 
ing  than  I  was.  Will  you  take  me  back?" 

Rose  had  a  tremendous  power  of  pro 
voking  and  holding  love,  and  Stephen  of 
loving.  His  was  too  generous  a  nature  for 
revilings  and  complaints  and  reproaches. 

The  shores  of  his  heart  were  strewn  with 
the  wreckage  of  the  troubled  summer,  but 
if  the  tide  of  love  is  high  enough,  it  washes 
such  things  out  of  remembrance.  He  just 
opened  his  arms  and  took  Rose  to  his  heart, 
faults  and  all,  with  joy  and  gratitude;  and 
she  was  as  happy  as  a  child  who  has  escaped 
the  scolding  it  richly  deserved,  and  who 
determines,  for  very  thankfulness'  sake, 
never  to  be  naughty  again. 

"  You  don't  know  what  you  Ve  done  for 
me,  Stephen,"  she  whispered,  with  her  face 
hidden  on  his  shoulder.  "  I  was  just  a  com- 
['74] 


DON'T   SPEAK,    STEPHEN,    TILL    YOU    HEAR    WHAT    I    HAVE   TO    SAY 


The  Dream  Room 

mon  little  prickly  rosebush  when  you  came 
along  like  a  good  gardener  and  '  grafted  in  ' 
something  better ;  the  something  better  was 
your  love,  Stephen  dear,  arid  it  's  made 
everything  different.  The  silly  Rose  you 
were  engaged  to  long  ago  has  disappeared 
somewhere ;  I  hope  you  won't  be  able  to 
find  her  under  the  new  leaves." 

"  She  was  all  I  wanted,"  said  Stephen. 

"You  thought  she  was,"  the  girl  an 
swered,  "  because  you  did  n't  see  the 
prickles,  but  you  'd  have  felt  them  some 
time.  The  old  Rose  was  a  selfish  thing, 
not  good  enough  for  you  ;  the  new  Rose 
is  going  to  be  your  wife,  and  Rufus's  sister, 
and  your  mother's  daughter,  all  in  one." 

Then  such  a  breakfast  was  spread  as 
Stephen,  in  his  sorry  years  of  bachelor  exist 
ence,  had  forgotten  could  exist ;  but  before 
he  broke  his  fast  he  ran  out  to  the  wagon 
and  served  the  astonished  Alcestis  with 
his  wedding  refreshments  then  and  there, 
bidding  him  drive  back  to  the  River  Farm 
['75] 


Rose  o  the  River 

and  bring  him  a  package  that  lay  in  the 
drawer  of  his  shaving-stand,  —  a  package 
placed  there  when  hot  youth  and  love  and 
longing  had  inspired  him  to  hurry  on  the 
marriage  day. 

"  There  's  an  envelope,  Alcestis,"  he  cried, 
"a  long  envelope  way,  way  back  in  the 
corner,  and  a  small  box  on  top  of  it.  Bring 
them  both,  and  my  wallet  too,  and  if  you 
find  them  all  and  get  them  to  me  safely 
you  shall  be  bridesmaid  and  groomsman 
and  best  man  and  usher  and  maid  of  honor 
at  a  wedding,  in  less  than  an  hour !  Off 
with  you  !  Drive  straight  and  use  the  whip 
on  Dolly ! " 

When  he  reentered  the  kitchen,  flushed 
with  joy  and  excitement,  Rose  put  the 
various  good  things  on  the  table  and  he 
almost  tremblingly  took  his  seat,  fearing 
that  contact  with  the  solid  wood  might 
wake  him  from  this  entrancing  vision. 

"  I  'd  like  to  put  you  in  your  chair  like  a 
queen  and  wait  on  you,"  he  said  with  a  soft 
[176] 


The  Dream  Room 

boyish  stammer  ;  "  but  I  am  too  dazed  with 
happiness  to  be  of  any  use." 

"  It 's  my  turn  to  wait  upon  you,  and  I  — 
Oh!  how  I  love  to  have  you  dazed,"  Rose 
answered.  "  I  '11  be  at  the  table  presently 
myself;  but  we  have  been  housekeeping 
only  three  minutes,  and  we  have  nothing 
but  the  tin  coffee-pot  this  morning,  so  I  '11 
pour  the  coffee  from  the  stove." 

She  filled  a  cup  with  housewifely  care 
and  brought  it  to  Stephen's  side.  As  she 
set  it  down  and  was  turning,  she  caught 
his  look,  —  a  look  so  full  of  longing  that 
no  loving  woman,  however  busy,  could 
have  resisted  it;  then  she  stooped  and 
kissed  him  fondly,  fervently. 

Stephen  put  his  arm  about  her,  and, 
drawing  her  down  to  his  knee,  rested  his 
head  against  her  soft  shoulder  with  a  sigh 
of  comfort,  like  that  of  a  tired  child.  He 
had  waited  for  it  ten  years,  and  at  last  the 
dream-room  had  come  true. 


ftifccrsibe 

Electrotype* and printed  by  H.  O.  Hougkton  &  €0. 
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TOUT!      /BIEN 
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The  following  pages  are  devoted 
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The 

AFFAIR  AT  THE  INN 

By  KATE  DOUGLAS  WIGGIN 

MARY  FINDLATER 

JANE  FINDLATER 

ALLAN  McAULAY 


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"  Mrs.  Wiggin's  portrayal  of  the  alternate  moods  of 
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By  KATE  DOUGLAS  WIGGIN 

"  Of  all  the  children  of  Mrs.  Wiggin's  brain,  the  most 
laughable  and  the  most  lovable  is  Rebecca." 

Life,  N.   Y. 

"  Rebecca  creeps  right  into  one's  affections  and  stayg 
there."  Philadelphia  Item. 

"  A   character  that  is  irresistible  in  her  quaint,  hu 
morous  originality."  Cleveland  Leader. 

"Rebecca  is  as  refreshing  as  a  draught  of  spring 
water."  Los  Angeles  Times. 

"  Rebecca  has  come  to  stay  with  one  for  all  time,  and 
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